Shattered Illusion
by MoonlightLilyXIII
Summary: The tranquil facade of the suburban town of Zaphias shatters when a rookie cop reopens a case file gone cold, searching for the truth hidden behind the false ideal neighbourhood. When two unexpected paths cross, only tragedy lies in waiting. YurixFlynn
1. Prologue: Zaphias

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own any of the Tales of Vesperia content featured in this fan fiction as they are copyrighted to Bandai Namco Inc._

_**Author's Note: **__Please keep in mind that this is__** the prologue**__, therefore, it starts off as an ordinary day in the supposedly 'peaceful', idealistic suburban town of Zaphias. It is to help set the tone for upcoming chapters._

_This fiction has an overall mixture of romance, suspense, crime, hurt/comfort and mystery. __**Please, before completely giving up on me, at least give chapter 1 a read**__; it gives a little more insight on the overall theme. If after reading it and your expectations are not satisfied, I will fully respect and understand your feelings._

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><p><strong>PROLOGUE - Zaphias -<strong>

Eyelids, framed with long dark lashes, fluttered open at the insistence of an alarm clock. A lazy, slender arm swung round and found its way to the tabletop, knocking the buzzing device over the wooden floorboard with a resounding thud. A groan, a hiss and a few colourful profanities immediately escaped pursed lips. He carded his fingers through the long bangs framing his face, heaving a deep sigh as blur vision became clearer. Given a few seconds of pondering, he chose to flip onto his stomach, burying his face deeper than it is actually possible into the warm, misshapen pillow, only to be mentally reminded of his manager's sour, displeased look; one he swore to himself to avoid seeing _ever_ again. With a careless toss of the blanket followed by an absentminded pat upon his dog's still sleeping figure, he made his way to the bath, readying himself for another long day ahead of him.

A quick turn round the mirror, a silky scarlet ribbon between pink lips and active fingers collecting long ebony locks, said 25 year old made a less-than-neat high ponytail before the mirror, scowling when some rebellious strands decidedly fell over his shoulders. With a quick glance back towards his freshly awaken companion and a lazy wave of his hand, he closed the door behind him, stepping into the morning.

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><p>"Well, well, well… Looks like the sky's about to come crashing down on us, huh, <em>Yuri<em>?" mocked the messy haired brunette who wore the tag that screamed 'manager' into the face of the uninterested raven haired man.

Yuri gave a quick roll of his eyes, dawn break grey pupils full of fatigue, as he bit back a sigh, opting instead to force a grin as he remarked, "More like, the world will end the day _you_ quit reprimanding me over my _past_ tardiness."

The brunette, a petite girl of age twenty two, chewed her lip as she yelled, "Why you!", all the while readying her fists for a jab at the man's face. But alas, he hovered over her with intimidating height, swift fingers poking at her forehead in sheer ridicule. That only served to widen the smirk plastered across his face. At the melodious jingle of the doorbell, both workers, however, greeted in perfect unison, "Good morning, boss".

The newly arrived pink haired girl, referred to as boss, made a joyful skip across the room towards the counter, obliviously commenting on how the both of them seem to get along so well as usual. Yuri couldn't help but smile a little at the young girl's innocence, knowing full well that even the temperamental Rita would quieten down in Estelle's presence.

The feigned tranquil atmosphere was unfortunately shattered mere seconds later when a boy barely past twenty one, came stumbling across the floor along with a bowl of freshly whipped cream, whisk flying three metres ahead. Rita smacked a hand to her forehead, growling in irritancy as she stormed across the room.

"You little twat! How many times have I told you to keep to the dish rack if you can't even whisk frosting without causing a catastrophe?"

The small built boy named Karol scrambled to his feet as quick as lightning, dodging Rita's flying fists, to seek protection behind Yuri.

"Aaaaah! Help me, Yuri!" he begged while cowering in terror. By then, even the other employees who were formerly busying themselves with the café's preparations for the day, curiously showed up from within the kitchen. Rosette, a soft-spoken waitress instinctively flung a tea towel into Yuri's face, wondering what trouble he had stirred up again whereas Thompson, one of the chefs, automatically went to Estelle's side, bowing before her in a dramatic greeting.

"_So much for wishing for a quiet morning…"_ Yuri grunted inwardly.

If only something out of the ordinary would happen... Whether it was wishful thinking or not, Yuri crossed his fingers, hoping.

* * *

><p>It was past mid-noon by the time customers began flooding the café. Owned by the famous Sidos Heurassein family as a subsidiary business at their only daughter's request (in which their mainline focuses on real estate ventures all across the globe), the small, 'tea in the British garden'-themed boulevard café situated right off the corner of the block has been the most frequented haunt in the suburban town of Zaphias since its grand opening.<p>

"Welcome to Vesperian Cravings!" Ashley, a red-headed waitress called out as the doorbell tinkled. Her olive green eyes shifted from the order lists that were being hung round a revolver to the figure of the newly arrived patron standing by the entrance. She promptly blushed when the good looking blonde guy smiled and inquired, "I heard that this place has the best cake in town?"

"Y-Yes! Our pâtissier has been whipping up new flavours every now and then! W-Would you like to have a seat?" Ashley stuttered, trying to hide the furious flush of scarlet spreading across her cheeks, as she motioned a hand towards an empty table.

The man gave a quick glance at his wristwatch, brows creasing in thought for a fraction of a second before he chose to head over.

"_I'm sure I'll be able to make it on time for the interview,"_ Flynn mentally shrugged once he was handed the menu.

"A slice of the cake of the day and a cup of coffee," he ordered, before hastily adding, "Oh and spare me some milk and sugar please. I don't like mine black." He grinned at the slight surprise on Ashley's face, causing the latter to accidentally drop the menu as it was being returned to her.

Flynn laced his fingers on the table, deep in thought as his sky blue eyes observed their surroundings. A married couple was bickering over financial issues to his left, a group of girls seated in the outdoor was giggling non-stop, two women were discussing the latest fashion trends in arrogance near his table, both trying to pin the other down in opinions.

The cacophony of laughter… The incoherent din of the animated whispers…

The atmosphere felt dense… Heavy. _Nauseating. _

Yet, déjà vu, _like an old forgotten memory_.

"Here you are!" a cheerful voice snapped him out of his giddiness.

As realisation dawned upon him, he rapidly beamed at the pink haired female who had served him, muttering an appreciative note. He blinked several times at the cake laid on the decorative plate before him, before looking up at the girl who apparently decided to sit across him.

She smiled knowingly, simply ushering him to try the cake rather than bothering about her. The fork (Flynn could've sworn it was made up of real silver) gently made its way through the perfectly sliced cut, fresh berries and chocolate syrup spilling off the top onto the plate. He ate the piece without much thought before eagerly exclaiming, "Wow! It's really good!"

The pink haired girl clasped her hands in delight at his comment, "Wonderful!", she said and beamed brighter than the afternoon sun.

"I haven't seen you around here before. My name's Estellise. Estelle for short," the young boss said. Flynn gave her a confused "Eh?" in response, which prompted her to continue her explanation.

"Zaphias isn't really big so we tend to receive regulars on a daily basis. Seeing an unfamiliar face here… Are you new in town?"

"Why, yes. I was transferred here just last night," Flynn answered with a slight nod and added, "Oh and it's Flynn. Flynn Scifo. It's a pleasure to meet you, Estellise."

"Well then, Flynn, please consider today's meal as our way of welcoming you to town. It's on the house," Estelle informed with a slight giggle of contentment. "I know how hard it is to move to a new town, not knowing anyone. I too have experienced it many times in my life. How about I introduce you to my first few friends in Zaphias?"

"_She is so friendly and sweet; the amiable girl next door,"_ Flynn thought, but was about to decline her offer, better off knowing that he _shouldn't_ be bogged down by more tedious and unnecessary commitments, "…_just like in the past_._"_

The naïve girl apparently took his smile, followed by a shake of the head as a form of saying, 'I don't mind', because, without any real warning, she had grabbed his arm and was already pulling him halfway across the room despite chocked protests.

"Rita! Rita! Come and greet the new face in town!" Flynn blushed a pale shade of pink, both fond of and embarrassed at the girl's outgoing personality. The brunette manager gave a lazy halfhearted 'hi' before resuming work and demanding Estelle to do something more 'productive'.

Karol, on the other hand, boisterously introduced himself. Thompson was considerably less flamboyant and the two waitresses were too shy to face Flynn upfront, all the while exchanging elated whispers between the both of them. Yuri was in the middle of decorating another vanilla crème brulee when Rita gave him a hard whack on the back at the pleas of Estelle's.

Quietly cursing under his breath at how Rita ruined the decoration, Yuri emerged from the kitchen, "Yesssss….. What's it this time, _princess_?"

"Oh Yuri! Please meet Flynn! He's new to town so you better not bully him," Estelle teased, "Flynn, this is Yuri, the patissier who has been the secret to the café's success!"

Yuri shot Flynn a careless smirk, feeling _very much_ drawn into the soothing shade of azure of his eyes. "Hey," he gave a quick wave of his hand, before brushing off the specks of flour covering his sleeves. How many times has Estelle told him to not wear black when working? Uhh… uncountable. She once threatened to revamp his wardrobe because of that. _"A charming man like you shouldn't always be wearing black! It's… gloomy," she had mentioned once before._

Flynn studied the man standing in front of him, wondering if it isn't against protocol to have a chef cook food for the public with his hair messily draping the frame of his face. Despite the negative aspect of that, Flynn found the man attractive in his own way. His grey eyes were filled with mischief and mysteries. Alluring.

The melody of his cell ringing, however, broke everyone's train of thoughts. Excusing himself, he thanked Estelle for the treat as he headed for the door, not without tossing a few secretive glances back at the black-haired patissier, a familiar sensation stirring within the depths of his heart.

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><p><em>A new face in town… <em>

_A fateful meeting…_

_The gears of fate have begun turning…_

_As the existence of one resonates with another's, the peaceful illusion of the ideal settlement, Zaphias was doomed to shatter…_

**-PROLOGUE END-**

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><p><em><strong>Whether you liked the prologue, hated it or have mixed feelings about it, please DO review. Even a simple review will suffice for it means a lot to us authors. Please share your thoughts, comments, opinions and suggestions to help me improve in the upcoming chapters.<strong>_


	2. Chapter 1: Meeting

_To all who have given the prologue a read, thank you and please continue supporting me._

_Special thanks to __**Saenda, Mistress Sundrop, Erin **__and __**CrystallizedPen**__ for reviewing and keeping it on alert, as well as __**Fail Alchemist**__ for favouriting it._

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><p><strong>- Chapter 1 : Meeting -<strong>

"You have such an impressive resume!" the chubby, cheerful captain at the 11th Avenue Police Department exclaimed with a roaring laugh, "The higher ups over at Aurnion must be cursing me for snagging their most promising rookie!"

Flynn gave a slight tilt of his head, smiling lightly for he was not sure of what to say. He fiddled with the hem of his denim jacket while awaiting further response from the man sitting across the wooden desk. The desk nameplate, camouflaged by stacks of paper, case files, stationery and a mug of steaming cappuccino, read 'Captain Marquise' in gold.

Through the cracks of the vintage shutters, Flynn had a decent view of the department's personnel hectically rushing about; carrying stacks of documents, jotting notes on the whiteboard, answering persistent phone calls. Another busy day.

As his fit of laughter receded, the auburn haired captain cleared his throat and adjusted his striped tie, continuing, "For a cop with such a promising future ahead of him, I find it rather strange that you decided to settle in a smaller workplace."

His expression hardened, his tone taking on a much more serious note as he continued, "So tell me, _boy_… What made you throw aside all those sparkling opportunities to become someone great?"

"I just prefer living in a quieter neighbourhood, I suppose." Flynn shrugged his shoulders, not giving much thought over the matter, "I was hoping that the serenity would help with my mother's recovery, that's all." Half the truth isn't necessarily a complete lie, after all, isn't it?

The captain, well into his fifties, arched an inquiring brow, half debating mentally if he should press the issue further.

"Youngsters these days want to be on top, _especially_ those who have talent. They dream _big_. **Huge**! Working themselves to the bone for the extra digit in their salary. Yet here you are, settling with a meager paycheque because of your _mother's health_?"

It sounded more of a statement than an actual query; bleeding with cynicism. Yet, Flynn did not feel the slightest bit offended. It was true. He _was_ foolish to have given up on his lifelong dream.

The shocked looks he received when he applied to be transferred to Zaphias…. All of his former co-workers, fellow rookies and trainees; even his captain back in Aurnion, could only shake their heads in frustrated disappointment during his farewell gathering.

He, however, could not find a place in his heart for regrets to linger.

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><p>Flynn stopped in his tracks, staring blankly at the slightly ajar main door.<p>

Even the gate was left wide open when he entered.

He shook away all the negative thoughts that formed in the moment. Flynn steadied his grip on the handle of the nature ornamented oak door, braving himself as he pushed forward.

"I'm home…" Flynn called out softly, secretly wishing for a reply but knowing better deep down.

It has become a habit, to pretend that everything is _just the way it has been_ since 10 years ago. It wasn't like he's never felt sick and tired of living a lie, but he had no choice and no one, _no one at all_ to confide in.

He dropped his khaki bag onto the floor by the coat rack and instinctively headed for the expansive living room. The spectacle that greeted him was that of his mother, weeping silently among the mess of torn fabric and broken china.

Nothing new, really.

"Mum! Mum! Are you alright?" Flynn hastily knelt beside his mother's crying figure and shook her gently.

His heartbeat stepped up a notch when he saw blood dripping from her arm.

"Not this again..." he murmured in anguish.

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><p>"Ouch!" Karol cried aloud when Rita gave him a smack on the head, "What was that for?"<p>

"For standing around like a statue, of course!" came the sharp reply.

"B-But it's my break period!"

"Says who?"

"Enough of the bickering guys," Yuri said exasperatedly, "I need to head over to my other job now." The young man removed his apron, carelessly throwing it over the counter. It landed on Karol's head.

Muffled protests went unnoticed as Rita snorted, "You _know _you have to be back at nine for dinner service, _don't you_?"

The aggressive young manager, dressed in an oversized ginger coloured cardigan and matching shorts, narrowed her eyes in mistrust; dexterous fingertips accurately counting out change from the register.

A lazy wave of the hand and Yuri was already out of the café, anxious to catch the five o' clock bus. The doorbell jingled musically.

"Idiot," Rita muttered under her breath as she dropped a series of coins into the customer's open palm.

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><p>"Flynn, dear…" the demure blonde woman whispered softly as her free hand caressed her only son's troubled face. Her voice was hoarse and barely audible.<p>

She would have looked gorgeous for a lady in her early forties, if only she didn't appear so wearied. The exhaustion certainly did not do her already wan appearance any justice.

Flynn's eyebrows furrowed in agitation as he made another knot to the bandage he was wrapping around his mother's right arm.

"Mum… Please, don't ever do that again," was all that Flynn could manage as he chocked back a few tears.

It was no good. He was on the borderline of becoming emotional again.

He felt his mother's hand - cold, void of all the warmth from his childhood - rest gently upon his head as she asked, "What do you mean…?"

A whirlwind of emotions flooded Flynn's mind as he suppressed the urge to yell, to curse, to scream…

If only _he_ were still here, if only_ he_ didn't decide to leave them without a warning. Then maybe life wouldn't seem so harsh.

It was all too sudden.

And too much to bear for those he had left behind.

He stood up and wiped a tear streaming down his cheek with the back of his hand, "I'll bring you to the hospital tomorrow, alright?"

Right now, he'll do whatever he can to retrieve the happiness that was lost since that moment.

Even if it meant sacrificing his own dreams.

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><p>"Here, a present for you!"<p>

Yuri grimaced as his mentor dropped an intimidating stack of unsorted records in front of him the moment he took his seat.

The thunderous noise made a couple of heads turn. Yuri gulped.

"Three feet high? Vince, tell me this is a joke," Yuri said in pure horror as he pinched his own cheek to confirm the reality he was seeing.

The bespectacled, wavy ashen haired male simply adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose as if to stress on the seriousness of his words.

With both hands on his hips, he leaned forward, hissing a venomous retort, "_This_ is what you get for skipping work two days in a row without prior notice. You ought to be thankful that_ I_ managed to cover up for your slacking."

Yuri stiffened, "The boss came round, again?"

"He was insisting on making you work full-time."

Vince crossed his arms, violet eyes raging with disapproval as they observed the way Yuri chose to clear an area on his workdesk to rest his head; which included knocking off some files into the wastebasket.

"The boss was actually impressed with your feat in sorting out the old records that were yellowing under the former clerks' care."

The irony was that Yuri was nowhere near happy at hearing that statement.

His schedule has been squeezed _too_ tight lately.

Apart from his bookkeeping desk-job at 'Ioder & Partners' law firm, as well as his part time job at 'Vesperian Cravings', he had to also keep up with his curricular modules and nightly profession.

Yuri swatted the air above him, "Tell the little prince that I appreciate the offer but I can't… Unless he wants me to fail law school."

He lifted his head to grin at his mentor, only to have ten more files dumped onto his desk.

* * *

><p>Flynn felt perturbed. From the way his mother smiled throughout dinner, to the untouched bowl of rice placed at one end of the dinner table…<p>

They have been 'practising' this 'ritual' for over 5 years now, a few years after his death.

His mother was in denial. He was well aware of the fact, thank you.

She would often joyously talk to Flynn as if that man was still on an extended overseas business trip. And that they're only patiently awaiting his return home.

She even texted their new home address to his old, invalid phone number.

Was she hoping that she could one day prove the world wrong?

It was a decade ago but he could recall vividly the day he witnessed blue uniforms, shielding his view from the body that laid in the dirty alleyway twenty feet from the 'Police Line Do Not Cross' tapes.

Autopsy may have failed to identify the individual because of its badly burnt condition but the personal effects left with minor charring did not lie.

The identity card did not lie.

The credit cards did not lie.

So did the driver's license.

Even the leather wallet which his mother had gotten for the victim for his thirty eighth birthday; they cruelly reflected the reality of matters.

He was dead. A bullet to his stomach, his corpse burnt beyond recognition.

_"Flynn! Don't look! That is not your father! He's safe somewhere!"_

He remembers his mother hugging him, trying to console their wounded souls.

But after that, the memory becomes a white out blur. Fuzzy. Mysterious.

_Why…?_

Many a times he already questioned himself.

His mother never told him if he had a bad concussion sometime after witnessing the gruesome crime scene.

Yet, the recollection becomes fragmented the harder he tries searching his mind. Between hazy pieces of memory, a diamond sparkled in the shades of burgundy.

_That was funny. He didn't used to remember that._

Flynn heard two loud honks at the back of his mind, wondering if they have always been part of that piece of memory too.

"**Are you gonna hitch a ride or not**?" bellowed the impatient, foul-mood bus driver.

And suddenly, Flynn's thoughts instantaneously returned to the present as he ascended the vehicle, pushing past memories to the furthest back of his mind.

* * *

><p>"Gotta run!" Yuri yelled to inform his co-workers, earning him an annoyed, "Get back here! I'm going to dock your pay!"<p>

Yuri threw a loop-sided smirk in his mentor's direction, only to run into someone carrying files of several colours. Sheets of paper flew into the air and office files went plummeting onto the navy blue carpet.

"Ouch. Are you alright?" Yuri rubbed his throbbing head as he tried to stand, hand extended to help the other onto his feet. Only, he gapped in surprise to see the exact same blondie from that afternoon.

Yuri immediately recognized the emblem on one of the files that was scattered on the floor. He wasn't mistaken to think that Flynn was attending the exact same law courses as he was.

Accepting the outstretched hand offered to him, while mumbling a sullen, 'Thanks', Flynn's cerulean gaze stopped in their tracks to partake a good view of the raven-headed patissier.

Apparently his physique decided to mess with him because he felt his cheeks tint a warm fuchsia.

"Heh… I'll bet the girls here are going to have a good eye candy," Yuri snickered inwardly.

He had to admit that he found the abashed young adult attractive, even from a male's point of view.

Almost immediately, he felt queasy at the thought; the adolescent in him awakening once more since the last time he dated 3 years back.

_"She was such a shallow prick though," _he snorted,_ "No love loss there."_

Seeing Flynn's disoriented expression, he laughed it off, reaching down to help the former retrieve his belongings lying strewn all over.

* * *

><p>"And this," Yuri popped another piece of parchment into Flynn's arms, "…Should be the last one."<p>

"Thanks," Flynn beamed, so brightly.

It blinded him.

Yuri held out a hand, "Didn't really get a chance to introduce myself properly back at the café. Yuri. Yuri Lowell."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Yuri. I'm Flynn Scifo. Do you work here? On top of your job as patissier? Isn't it hectic?" A genuine fascinated smile graced Flynn's lips.

_Damn… Could he be any more enticing?_

At the numerous questions, Yuri barked a laugh, "Hey, slow your horses, blondie." Flynn flushed, the tip of his ears reddening as he uttered an apology. _"He's so easy…"_ Yuri thought.

"Yeah, I work here. Only part time – as the bookkeeper – My hands are always full."

"Are you planning on studying law here or something?" Yuri added, "I saw the file."

Flynn blinked. Once. Twice. Then it clicked. "Oh the file… Right…"

He chewed his lower lip, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "I was advised to catch up with what I missed out on when I was moving here." Blue framed glasses slid precariously off the bridge of his nose as his gaze casted downwards, "I applied as soon as I stopped losing my way around town."

Yuri chuckled, stepping forward to readjust his spectacles. It has been brief but Yuri was sure he found guilty pleasure in seeing the boy blush furiously.

He gave the astounded Flynn an encouraging pat on the back and bid him good luck before attempting to leave.

What he did not expect was for Flynn to turn around and call for him, "Wait! Yuri!"

A few blinks and he was already beside him. Flynn was astonishingly agile.

"…Could it be that you attend the same classes too?"

"Yeah, but I'm sort of part time, I guess. Night lessons," Yuri replied fluidly, "Now I gotta get back to Cravings for dinner service before someone roasts me as the main course."

Yuri made a thoughtful noise, a finger to his chin as if in deep thought, "Drop by for supper?"

He hadn't really planned on further involving Flynn with himself but when he saw the faint gloomy look vanish without a trace, Yuri felt at ease.

* * *

><p>It was already way past eleven by the time Flynn arrived at Vesperian Cravings.<p>

It seemed that the café took on a soothing, jazzy sensation after evening tea hours. Quiet murmurs of conversation and the clink of drinking cups helped to set the mood along with blues from the jukebox.

"Welcome to Vesperia Cravings! What can I get y-" Rosette trailed off before squeaking, "W-Welcome".

Flynn paid not much mind to it and went over to a corner sofa seat. "Please let me have one of the chef's specials for supper."

As he waited for his meal, he took out his mobile, discovering an unread text message. It was from Captain Marquise, regarding his practical training tomorrow.

Flynn was still in the middle of surfing the net for old news with black printed headlines of 'Tragedy of a Righteous Lawyer – Murdered' which dated back to 2001, even when there was the rattle of his meal being served.

His attention didn't divert off the mobile screen until he felt a pair of eyes boring into him for a few good seconds.

He looked up, genuinely startled to see Yuri hovering over him, one hand on hip.

"The amazing chef himself has personally served you, your majesty!" Yuri made a majestic bow and kidded, "I ought to earn extra tips for that."

"It looks really good…." Flynn commented as he took a whiff of the delightful scent of curry chicken wafting through the air.

"Don't just admire how it looks! You're gonna waste all the love I put into the flavour!" Yuri joked, but grunted a mere two seconds later when Rita yelled from behind the cake display for him to hurry up.

Unknowingly, Flynn had blushed at Yuri's unintentional choice of words.

* * *

><p><em>A flick of his wrist showed him the time displayed by his watch: 3.31a.m.<em>

_His breathing is heavy; his heart is pounding loudly in his chest._

The man is drunk, assaulting the women in his arms as he trips in his step. The chauffer does nothing to stop his employer, merely watching by the sidelines.

_His forefinger bends a little… He hesitates. The crossfire staggers a little from its target…._

The woman, dressed in a short silk cocktail gown, looks horrified. She tries to push the lecherous pervert away from her, his grubby hands touching everywhere it shouldn't.

_He curses. Readying the angle…_

_Three…Two…One…_

A reverberating bang is heard, and the freshly decapitated man falls to the ground, lifeless. The woman, drenched in crimson, screams in pure terror.

_He picks up the empty bullet case, quickly stuffing it into his jeans pocket. Just in case._

_Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he leaves a paper doll as a sign of mourning for the one person whose life he had just taken._

"Good job…" commended a tall, dark figure leaning against the door frame of the empty, abandoned apartment building.

_He stops in his stride for a fraction of a second before continue walking._

"…Lowell."

**CHAPTER 1 - END -**

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Please review! Pleaseeee...** If my review count isn't satisfactory, I may lose interest in continuing**. Honestly, this is how every author feels. It may go unbeknownst to many but even a simple comment is worth mentioning.

I write because I like hearing feedback on what should be improved for future causes so that I am able to provide all of you readers a more pleasant reading experience.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I will try my very best to update weekly.

**EDIT:** I changed the title because I decided to drop the idea of incorporating elements of the Seven Sins and Seven Virtues. Besides. if I did take that route, it'd mean fewer chapters, right? XD

**Mini Q&A:**

**1. Are any of the minor characters from the game, or are they all OC's?**

- The supporting characters which have been introduced so far are all OC's, as of chapter 1. However, I do plan on incorporating some of the game's original minor characters. It's just that… most of the original minor roles aren't even given names *laughs*


	3. Chapter 2: Partner

**- Chapter 2 : Partner -**

"Good morning Terca Lumireis. We now bring you news live from our national broadcasting station."

The morning news theme music accompanied by the cue of the day's headlines filled the quiescent room. Only the occasional clatter of kitchen paraphernalia and the clink of teacups being set on matching saucers breathed life into the ambience.

It was only a quarter to nine, after all.

"Hey, Yuri," Thompson emerged from the kitchen, apparently on morning duty with Yuri for the week. The tired-eyed man made a sound of acknowledgement; gaze never leaving the pot of pure, black coffee he was in the middle of brewing.

"We're running out of eggs and heavy whipping cream," Thompson informed, arms tightly folded across his broad chest. He had a flour-stained white and red checkered apron on.

Yuri heaved a sigh deeper than intended, taking a few good moments to search his mind for a reply. "Look, it's still early so-"

"Wait, wait hold on," Thompson interrupted, brusquely cutting Yuri's grouse short. He was speedily pumping up the volume of the television using a remote. Yuri's line of sight obediently followed the older boy's, landing on the screen.

"…aged 59 was murdered just last night. The cause of death has been identified as a bullet wound through the back of the victim's head. CSU has recovered gunshot residue from an abandoned apartment located about 50 feet away from the crime scene."

The display flicked back and forth between various recordings of the crime scene before skipping to an interview with one of the witnesses. She was a lady with golden curls falling perfectly off her shoulders; her neck adorned with a magnificent diamond locket. "I-I was so scared! Without a warning, his head suddenly rolled off his shoulders!" she wept, her tears ruining the heavy make-up she had on.

Thompson wolf-whistled, garnering a disbelieving raise of the brow from his coworker.

A heartbeat's moment later, the screen disappointingly flipped back its display of the tanned morning news reader. "While the police have urged citizens not to panic, they have advised the public to be extra careful at night. And now, for the daily sports update."

"Did you see that, Yuri? What a hottie!" Thompson declared at the top of his lungs, "How in the world could a 59 year old land himself such a beauty…? I'd totally _do_ her."

Yuri rolled his eyes, "Don't you think you'd be better off with a_ less_ fashion-conscious lady? She had an 11 carat on, you know."

"Aww… come _on_! Don't play innocent, Yuri!"

"I'm not. I'm just not into superficial girls." He sieved some Earl Grey tea from its leaves, filling a porcelain teapot, "…and I'm certainly not into _older_ women."

Thompson snorted, "_This_ coming from the man who had a different girl on his arm every week for the whole of grade 12."

"At least_ I_ laid my eyes off our teachers." Yuri's mouth curved upwards into a smirk, eyes glancing up for a second to meet his former schoolmate's. "Besides, could it be you have _already_ forgotten Miss 'I-Want-My-Diamond-Ring'?"

Thompson instantly paled to the colour of wheat flour at the remark. Yuri grinned in triumph.

"You just _had _to, didn't you?"

"Think twice about sending me to do grocery shopping next time, then?"

He chuckled and playfully elbowed Thompson in the ribs before heading out, dark violet jacket on one arm.

* * *

><p>"…Yes, captain. It's alright," Flynn spoke into his mobile phone, his free hand pulling the 'Do Not Cross' tape over his head. He bent his body slightly as he stepped onto the sealed off 10 billion mansion's porch. The press was still busy taking another hundred snapshots despite the futile efforts of some policemen to keep them from sneaking into the fenced garden.<p>

Flynn crossed over to have a look at the dead body; their unit's forensic pathologist still busy packaging some personal belongings left on the victim. He was about to have a closer inspection when a pleasant voice greeted him, "Hey, rookie."

Flynn turned around, coming face to face with a handsome clear-eyed brunette, a good-natured smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was exceptionally tall, about 6 feet 3, and had a very well build; extremely eye-catching.

"I'm your senior-in-charge." He held a hand out, "Jules Moreau."

Flynn blinked, to which the man said, "Ah, half-French, by the way."

"Ah, I see," Flynn nodded, taking his hand, "Flynn Scifo."

"We've been understaffed at 11th Avenue lately," Jules said, regret evident in his voice, "We need all the manpower we can get. Hope you don't mind working on a real case despite your current status."

Flynn relaxed, muscles losing their prior tenseness, "It's alright. I've got the captain's consent so it's not really much of a choice."

"Don't expect higher pay though!" the older man quipped.

"It'll be good experience."

"You're pretty optimistic."

"I like to think that I am."

"Hate to interrupt y'all but I'm done diagnosing the victim's body," the cherry-haired forensic said, looking up at the two. She took off her gloves and proceeded to jot down a few notes on a clipboard she had in her lap, "Mister Anderson G. Miller, aged 59; was supposed to start campaigning for his run for president in the next few months. Cause of death was due to a long-ranged shot. The bullet pierced through his skull from the back of his head and boom… The horror, which is that decapitated head over there." Her pen pointed in the direction where the detached head laid.

"Time of death?" Jules asked, pulling an evidence sheet over the body.

"Estimated between two and four last night."

Two noticeably inexperienced policemen, one lanky and tall while the other was contrastingly short and stout, came over to heave the dead body onto a stretcher; squabbling rather audibly with one another as they wheeled the evidence into the waiting van.

The pathologist clicked her tongue in irritancy, readjusting her spectacles before continuing, "Looks like our sniper took his aim from over…." She trailed off, searching for an approximate location, "There."

"Alright, thanks again, Kaufman," Jules said with a winning smile. Flynn gave a small bow and turned to trail after his senior when she decided to hold them both back.

"Hey, wait you two! I'm not done yet," Kaufman puckered her lips. The two partners looked back, wondering.

"Jules, knowing you, don't you dare lay a finger on this delicate young boy, you hear me." As if to prove her point, she pulled Flynn by the arm, catching him in a half-embrace.

"De-Delicate?" Flynn mouthed, vividly shocked.

Jules' shoulders shook as he laughed.

* * *

><p>"So… CSU has determined this room as the place where the sniper took his shot," Jules mumbled absent-mindedly to his peers.<p>

Flynn scanned the room in a fleeting glance; the ceiling was full of cobwebs, sand and building materials piled up in a corner, dust embellishing the window sills…

…And a simple, cut-out paper doll leaning against the cold glass.

Flynn put a pair of gloves on, carefully inspecting the out-of-placed item in the faint stream of morning rays.

"What's that you've got over there?" Jules came over, curious.

"You think the killer left this here?" Flynn lifted it up for better view, sapphire eyes snapping to meet striking, clear ones for confirmation.

"Most likely; I found GSR near the opened window." Jules held up a sealed packet containing specks of gunpowder. "Now all we have to do is send it for testing."

"Looks like we're up against a pro, huh…" Flynn pondered aloud, failing to trace any evidence of footsteps into and out of the room.

"Even the bullet casing has been cleaned up. This guy sure knows what he's doing," Jules chipped in as an affirmation to Flynn's declaration.

"What do you think this paper doll means, anyway?" Flynn asked, eyes narrowing in perplexity at the whole incongruity of the situation, "Has this happened before? You didn't even seem the slightest bit surprised."

"I _would_ be lying if I denied that…" the brunette responded, slowly, thoughtfully; tenor void of all its original mirth. His voice plunged into a low whisper, knitted with apprehension, "…Looks like our murderer from 3 years ago is back in business."

* * *

><p>The moment they entered the department, Captain Marquise came marching over in infuriation.<p>

"What do you mean the elusive killer from 3 years ago is on the move again?"

Jules shrugged languidly, "It's just how it is, captain."

"The 11th Avenue _cannot _afford to once again suffer the same humiliation and discredit when we let that sneaky bastard slip through our fingers years ago, do you understand boys?"

"Yes, sir," both young men answered without sparing a second to falter.

"Good." The captain's words were solid, bearing much heavyweight in them; but they also represented the unwavering pride of the police force. The citizens' faiths were being shouldered by them, after all. "Flynn, I'm truly sorry I had to put you to work so early in the game."

"N-Not at all, sir! I'm honoured to be of help to the team," the blonde stammered abashedly.

"You'd make a good asset," Captain Marquise's glum look brightened up considerably, pride reflected in his chestnut brown irises, "This may even be the ultimate breakthrough you just need to be officially promoted to homicide detective."

Both boys maneuvered their way round the bustling workplace, stopping only when they arrived in front of an austere steel door.

"So what have you got, Kaufman?"

"A 25 cal* to go with the paper doll you found," the pathologist lifted the bloody bullet for exhibition using a pair of calipers, "The killer from years ago is back on strike, alright."

Jules frowned, examining the nude body that lied still on the autopsy table. Numerous fresh stitches were present on the lying form.

"Can't the bullet lead us onto something?" Flynn inquired, taking in the entire view of the medical examiner's office. The room was chilly, more so in the figurative sense, as the very thought of multiple bodies being refrigerated in the morgue made his stomach contents churn.

"Hold on, youngster. I've already sent it to ballistics," Kaufman informed quickly, "Also, I've found out that the vic' was drugged a few hours prior his demise."

"Cocaine. An alarmingly high amount, too. He would have probably been dead even if he didn't get shot in the head." She handed the toxicology report to Jules.

"You think the killer went through the trouble of overdosing him first?"

"Low chance, but at least we might be able to narrow down the number of people the vic' had been in contact with. Also, he had some strong booze and some chocolate shake." The cherry-headed lady's gaze went over to Flynn, "What's wrong, boy?"

"I don't know… I just feel sorry for the vic'."

Jules ruffled his junior's blonde locks playfully, teeth baring into a huge grin, "Looks like rookie's got a soft spot, after all."

Flynn looked at the man with an unvoiced _"What's that supposed to mean?" _to which Kaufman helpfully supplied_, _"My boy, your generous sympathy will not go unrewarded, I'm sure."

* * *

><p>"Two more servings of garlic spaghetti bolognaise and a clay pot of rabbit stews!" Rita's voice boomed into the humid kitchen with an authoritative edge. Her short stature didn't account for her powerful vocal. It always surprised people.<p>

"Seems like Rita's tetchier than usual," Thompson grumbled while stirring a pot full of pasta dressing. He immediately dabbed away beads of sweat that were trickling down his forehead.

"No kidding," Yuri agreed, attention more focused on getting the timing _just_ right before he popped the sinfully chocolatey soufflés out of the oven. Perfect. As always. "Maybe 'cause Estelle's not around today. And Karol took the day off."

He was barely about to make his way over to the pasta station when the petite manager, this time dressed in a black t-shirt with pink letterings that read 'I love my Boss', asked for Yuri to drag his ass out for a sec.

The patissier-cum-chef knew she was rough with her words but she wasn't always_ that _crude. _Must be some cranky customers again_, he thought.

Only it was Flynn. The example of an ideal customer, neighbour, friend, colleague… whatever you can think of.

"Oh hey, blondie. What brings you here today? A cup of coffee? Latte? Just so you know, I don't do foam art," Yuri said very speedily. He knew that Rita _detests_ pointless chitchat during work hours. Heck, she even made it a habit to confiscate their phones till the end of their shifts, claiming that a normal human's attention span increases by 30% without distraction or something.

Flynn's eyes smiled just as his lips did, "No, Yuri. I was wondering if I could have the day's specialty from a batch that's straight out of the oven."

"You're in luck then. Just a moment." Yuri's tall figure disappeared in record time through the kitchen door.

"You didn't have to meet him just to request something like that," Rita said bitingly, her lime green eyes full of disinterest.

No more than a minute later, Yuri reappeared, holding out a fancy mini cake box and dropping it into open hands. Flynn opened it, genuinely surprised to see not one, but two soufflés sitting flawlessly in place.

"Yuri, how did y-"

"I read minds. Gonna be the next Edgar Cayce*."

"A psychic? You don't look the type," Flynn said, full of amusement.

"Hey, I surprise people," Yuri waved a hand in the air, smirking.

Flynn found himself unable to disagree.

* * *

><p>The first few nurses who attended to them were considerably patient and helpful, but it didn't mean that Flynn wouldn't worry still. Given how long his mother has been suffering this way, he was sure she would wreak havoc in her room like an angry typhoon, soon enough. His mother had sulked all the way to the hospital, refusing to even utter a syllable to her son.<p>

The doctor had kept him out of his mother's assigned hospital room even after she was wheeled in; told him it'd only take a few minutes to first set things up. So here he was, anxiously pacing about the long, uninviting hallways, the scent of antiseptic clogging his nostrils. Medical staffs were pushing food carts, machineries and all sorts past him, but none of them took the effort to smile or even make eye-contact. After what felt like an entirety, the daunting room door opened and the doctor motioned for him to step inside.

The room was spacious, plenty of room to move about, but none of which to settle comfortably. The walls were faded with streaks where it had been cleaned; paintwork peeling a little in the tiny corners where most visitors don't even take notice of. But Flynn was different. He has always had an uncanny perception of his surroundings.

"So Mrs. Scifo…" the doctor cleared his throat, gaining attention from what little life that was present in the room. At least he _tried_ to sound upbeat. "From now on, you will have a few nurses attending to your needs…. and once you're better, we'll have an interesting schedule of activities for you to work on."

The person being directed to didn't care to give a single reaction. All she did was lie on the bed, head lolled to the edge of the flattened pillow; noticeably abused over the years in service. Flynn's mum didn't even look the least bothered when one of the nurses on duty ineptly pierced her patient's arm a couple of times before getting the drips needle in right.

Flynn took his mother's hand in his, giving it a little squeeze until the doctor called for him in a low hush, where he reluctantly let go.

"Flynn, your mum's going to be fine," the doctor assured in a low voice once they were outside, "We'll do our very best to make sure she doesn't go into another fit."

The doctor sympathised with the young man standing before him; barely ripe, still so raw in the real world, yet was already shouldering adult matters – financial woes, an ill family member, loss of a parent – none of which had the right to steal away the kid's future.

He scrubbed at the stubble near his chin, another hand combing through messy greying hair, wondering what else he could say to cheer up the melancholic boy. When the door reopened and one of the nurses came out, he hurriedly whispered, "Sweetie, darling, show him what sort of wonderful accommodation we have for his mum, will you?"

"That's sexual harassment, _Dr. Schwann_, if I _have to_ remind you, for the umpteenth time," the voluptuous nurse snapped crossly.

When she turned to Flynn's direction, her voice was one full of understanding, "Mr. Flynn, would you like to have a look around the place for your mother' recovery?"

The 15 minute tour was enriching for Flynn, mentally and spiritually, as the hospital completely lost its initial lugubrious impression to it. There was a back entrance leading to a beautiful, capacious garden that was hidden from view off the main road, a crafts room where many patients spent their time either painting or folding colourful paper art with the guidance of the nurses and a small library, fully stocked with shelves of books contributed by the charitable public.

All that lost hope which left him suddenly returned, shining with a new radiance.

* * *

><p>Jules looked up from the scribbled-on papers he was reading the moment Flynn emerged from the elevator. He was supporting the whole load with an arm, the other held firmly onto a coffee mug. Other staffs were rushing about, either tending to a succession of phone calls or hunting through databases, be it browsing over yellow files or computer documents.<p>

"Here," Flynn offered as he shoved the cake box onto the stack being balanced by his senior. If it had been a comedic television drama, Flynn was sure the extra lightweight would have caused the whole mass to take a dive.

But it didn't. Thankfully.

"How thoughtful of you," Jules grinned, his perfect rows of white teeth showing, earning him a slight bat on the arm.

"Don't devour both of them. Kaufman deserves some," Flynn said, eyes not wanting to meet with his colleague's. Seems like everyone he has met in Zaphias so far enjoys poking fun at him, he thought woefully.

The brunette laughed, "And here I thought I have done something to be rewarded for."

"I say, ballistics' report has come in, men!" The lanky, moustache adorned rookie from that morning appeared, tripping in his step as if the floorboard had a layer of grease on. Or maybe it wasn't too farfetched after all, seeing the man stumble, head first into the ground after slipping over an oily burger wrap.

"I say, what was that for, Boccus?" he scurried to his feet, his free hand now gripping on the baton tucked to his leather belt, scowling at his short and stout partner.

"What insolence is that, Adecor? Suspecting me for your fall?" the plump rookie glared back, mustard stains all over his mouth.

Flynn brought a hand to his forehead and sighed exasperatedly; it wasn't this laidback at Aurnion.

"Whoa, whoa, hold on guys. No more bickering like housewives, alright?" Jules approached the two snarling figures, instantaneously putting an end to their quarrel.

"I say, yes sir!"

"Yes indeed, sir!"

The two stood at attention and Jules winked back at Flynn, as if he had heard his inaudible grouse.

"So…. According to the nation's list of registered guns shipped into Terca Lumereis, there are only two holders who use rifle bullets matching the 25 calibre that killed our victim," Jules announced to the listening pairs of ears that crowded round him. The cursor hovered over two names and when clicked, brought up two very different profiles of potential suspects. One man had a dangerous, rogue look, a huge scar at the temple and used to be a trained military servant named David Remmington whereas the other suspect, Charles McGinnis, seemed refined and polished but had dark eyes.

For once, the two rookies proved to be helpful enough for some serious work when Adecor handed Jules the witness report he had collected with Boccus earlier that afternoon.

"I say, this man – David Remmington – is the killer!"

"Remmington is surely the killer!"

_So much for subtle good impressions of the both of them…_

"No, no, don't jump to conclusions yet," Jules advised patiently, a hand held up to signal them to be at ease.

Flynn scanned through the horrible scribble which was their report, spelling mistakes glaringly obvious here and there, important facts messily scattered around the page. It read: _10pm++ tall, muscular, dark-haired man had a row with victim after a few drinks. Looked brusque, savage; a scar near the temple. Shouting, loud argument, punching. Stormed out of The Black Bess soon after._

"The Black Bess?" Flynn wondered aloud.

"It's a tavern down 50th Street," Jules supplied, "I'll take you there sometime. Pretty neat."

Flynn was about to state that he preferred not to drink but everyone's trains of thoughts were cut short when they saw the brusque man being led to the interrogation room by two officers.

"Looks like our cue," Jules chirped.

* * *

><p>The photo slid smoothly across the shiny, iron table, stopping right before the captive man.<p>

"So…" Jules began as he walked slowly round the room, "You recognise this man?"

Flynn watched from outside, through the glass, never dreaming that he'd be standing there until the next 5 years or so. Jules's voice was silky smooth even through the speakers, yet, it sounded radioactive at the same time. Biting. _Imposing_.

The one held captive didn't speak, face cool, composure calm.

"He was murdered just last night," the brunette continued on, never faltering, "… A 25 cal to his head."

"You know nothing," the man spat venomously.

"Oh really?" Jules only stopped in his tracks for a second before glaring down at David, "I think you killed him. After that row in the pub, you wanted _revenge_. You wanted _justice_ for yourself. He humiliated you; A punch squarely to your jaw"

Clear eyes full of accusation bored into russet ones. And suddenly, the whole room shook, the metal table rattled.

"**I DIDN'T KILL HIM**!" David boomed, large fists slamming down on the furniture.

"So who did?" Jules didn't even winch, if possible, his expression grew even darker; a side Flynn hadn't seen before, "I think you were mad at Mr. Miller because just a month ago, he brought you to court for illegal hunting."

A few seconds of silence, Jules then continued, "Why? Did you finally realise you prefer human hunting? Or could it be that you wanted to rid the nuisance that hindered such a lucrative business, huh, former military servant, _Mr. David Remmington_?"

"I want my lawyer." That was all the suspect said before he demanded a release from the room.

Jules came out sighing, but he cheered up when Flynn praised him for his 'good work'. The latter, however, was quick to question about the victim's role of halting David's illegal hunting business.

The brunette turned around, "Oh, that's right. You weren't here at that time. Do you want the quick version or the-"

"The shorter one," Flynn anxiously answered.

"Well, Mr. Miller has been a public figure for years, running elections, doing all he can for the community." Jules pushed the button atop the coffee maker and a stream of black liquid flowed into his mug, "Y'know, politicians. Gain favour of the public by doing good deeds, even if they're pretentious."

Flynn mouthed an 'o', feeling very scattered brain at the moment. He excused himself, hoping to be able to digest all that he had seen and heard for the day.

"Hey, uhm, Flynn?"

Upon hearing his name being called, Flynn glanced back.

"Wanna go to the shooting range? Y'know, practice. I feel like I'm not doing my job as your senior very well."

* * *

><p>The shots were deafening, even likely capable of bursting his eardrums if it weren't for the pair of hearing protection Flynn had on. He emptied the cartridge and swapped it for new rounds, sharp blue eyes aiming for the marked fatal points on the human shaped target bulletin. Three shots, they were all precise, but when the fleeting memory of his father's charred corpse flashed past his vision, the fourth shot took a dive through Jules's lane instead.<p>

"Woah!" Jules called out, removing his prescription glasses as he walked over.

A troubled Flynn apologised for his negligence, quickly withdrawing his hand when Jules reached out to inspect the slight laceration formed between his index and thumb…

But he wasn't quick enough.

Jules clicked his tongue in disapproval, mentally noting to buy his junior a pair of gloves the next time around, "Looks like that glock 19's a little too harsh for you."

"I'll get used to it," Flynn tried to retract his arm from his senior's vice grip, only to prove it was a fruitless effort. His eyes casted down towards the floor, his cheeks a luminescent colour-me-pink.

Whether he owed it to lady luck for bestowing upon him her charm, or pure coincidence just playing the fool, Flynn was ready to thank any unseen forces for making Jules' cell ring in that precise instance.

"Yes, right, right…" Jules muttered sort of impatiently into the phone, his back facing Flynn, "Now's not really a suitable time." The conversation, or whatever it was supposed to be, didn't last more than half a minute. Jules switched off his phone and stuffed the device into his cargo pocket.

It was hard for anyone to not wonder at the sudden subtle change in the brunette's attitude, but Flynn knew better than to outright question him about it.

* * *

><p>He had somehow ended up inside the tavern, to his own amazement, despite all the noisy protests and jaw clenching Flynn made in his senior's Volvo. Maybe because The Black Bess didn't give off that common revolting aroma of tobacco mixed with strong cheap booze that Flynn actually stepped into the 70's themed tavern rather willingly. And by 'willingly', it meant Jules not having to drag Flynn by the arm. Second thoughts were still lavishly plentiful though.<p>

At one corner of the bar sat a scruffy middle aged man, messy black hair tied up into a ponytail… Oh wait, he seemed familiar.

Jules was quick to take a seat next to the man, cheerily ordering a French 75 and an Irish Coffee for 'that new guy over there'. Flynn could see the barmaid eyeing him from the corner of her eye as she served some drunkards another bottle of 1952 whiskey. She gave him a wink.

"What? Is there something on my face?" the scruffy, vagabond-looking man growled; face flushed. His words were slurred but Flynn had no doubt he's seen that man somewhere. Then it clicked.

"D-Doctor?" Flynn squeaked in utmost surprise.

"Hmm…? Oh hey, kiddo," the drunk man hiccupped, physically appearing drowsy.

"Huh… Looks like the both of you are already acquainted," Jules exchanged glances between the two.

The barmaid placed their cocktails on the counter, taking her time to eye Flynn from head to toe. "So who's the cutie?" It seemed that she had directed the question to Jules because when Flynn promptly looked up from his drink, she smiled mischievously at him. For most men, they would be gleefully delighted to have her stare at them in such a way but as for Flynn, he found it unsettling to have a pretty barmaid perceive his profile as if he were the shiny new toy on sale.

"Flynn Scifo. He's my partner," Jules supplied, chewing on a piece of lemon, "Flynn, this is Judith."

"Judith honeyyy… What about me?" Dr. Schwann drawled, free hands trying to reach up to the well-endowed barmaid's figure. She hit his head with a metallic tray. "Hi, Flynn. I heard you're the new boy in town," Judith rested her head in one palm; another was placed on her hip. "Do you like it here?"

Flynn spared a moment before the right words formed inside his head. He had always been a city boy so Zaphias appeared to be a refreshingly new beginning for him.

"Yes, yes I do," his voice steady, sincere.

"I see." Judith straightened her figure, a finger to her chin, "Jules here will show you the ropes. He's reliable. Also, maybe Yuri…"

"Yuri?" Flynn enquired, interested

"Yep, he works at the corner café. Dependable enough if you can chew some time off his 'ever-busy' schedule," Judith told with a slight giggle, "He can be a bit prickly if you're not careful though."

_Prickly? Yuri?_ Flynn wasn't sure whether to take the barmaid's words as a joke or not.

Before he could even choose to ponder further, Flynn's ocean-blue gaze travelled to Jules' swift fingers as they slipped a roll of bills under his arm to the doctor's grasp. "So tell me," Jules said, in a very serious demeanor, "Charles McGinnis." The supposedly drunk doctor also appeared grim, voice very sober when he spoke, "A diamond company owner. Been in business for at least two decades now; tomorrow's the 21st Anniversary celebration. Grand ball, down 30th street."

The doctor chugged down another glass of beer, wiping his mouth with his long sleeve. "Rumour has it that the owner got rich due to some shady business; pimping girls if I'm correct."

"Any known connections to Mr. Miller?"

"Business partners or something. Not sure how. Nobody really questioned it."

"Thanks," Jules said, passing his half unfinished cocktail for the doctor to down in a single gulp.

Judith came back over when Jules started leaving a few notes by Flynn's glass. Both cops were ready to take their leave when the barmaid gestured for them to lean in closer.

"I heard from one of our customers that there's going to be a costume party at 58th, in three days' time," she informed very softly, "Thought you might want to know about it."

"Ah, why the sudden generosity?" Jules asked, skeptical.

Judith winked at Flynn, "I just wanted to leave a good first impression on the boy."

"So… what was that about?" Flynn finally inquired when they reached Jules' impressive black Volvo. Polished. Glimmering in pride under the moonlight.

"What 'what'?"

"The tip off. About the costume party."

Jules looked dumbstruck for a mere second before the usual playful grin reappeared, "Oh. It means that we're going to have a hell of a time nabbing illegal drug traffickers then."

**CHAPTER 2 –END-**

* * *

><p><em>*CSU: Crime Scene Unit<em>

_*GSR: Gunshot residue_

_*Cal: Caliber (Form of bullet size measure – usually in mm. 25 calibre stands for 0.25 mm calibre)_

_*Edgar Cayce: A reputable psychic of the 20__th__ century who made many publicized predictions_

_**Author's Note:**_

_I'll usually update on Sundays but if there are any unexpected circumstances, then it'll carry over to Monday/Tuesday._

_Hope you enjoyed the chapter. I've finally introduced one of the more important OCs who is crucial to the main plot, Jules Moreau. Hope you took/will take a liking to him over the course of the story!_

_Before everyone starts worrying about the whole Yuri/Flynn relationship, I'm taking this chance to declare that Yuri and Flynn have been and will always be my reason for writing this fic. So worry not, as I have a lot in store for all of you even though I originally didn't even plan for a multi chapter fic that goes beyond 10 chapters *laughs*_

_Please review!_


	4. Chapter 3: Reason

**- Chapter 3: Reason -  
><strong>

Ladies dressed in a luxurious range of fabrics giggled elegantly behind gloved hands. Martini glasses gently exchanged toasts, their owners directing a few subtle flirts across the room every now and then. Well-groomed butlers maneuvered their way around the crowd lithely, offering proficiently balanced trays of hors d'oeuvres* and canapés* to guests. Glasses of champagnes stood in rows on the long stretch of buffet tables. It was a grand occasion, indeed.

The exhibition hall was immense, every corner held at least one glorious display of precious stones. Perfectly cut diamonds sat atop satin cushions, dazzling as light reflected off at various angles.

"Here," Jules popped a vol-au-vent* into Flynn's unsuspecting mouth, the fingers of his free hand wiggling as he chose himself a foie gras canapé. Flynn bit down, puff pastry flaking a little.

Their entrance made a number of heads turn, an event that would have undoubtedly made Flynn uneasy if handling it alone. Jules, in contrast, charitably shot his finest smiles to a few girls whom he had caught staring earlier. "Come on, loosen up, a little," Jules urged his junior, eyes winking and hands beckoning to a few giggling women. Flynn cleared his throat, "Must I remind you that we're here for Charles McGinnis?"

"It doesn't hurt to have fun on the job."

Flynn was handsomely garbed in a single-breasted lounge suit, courtesy of their boss' insistence that they 'carried themselves properly'. It fitted him well, trimmed; flaunting his perfect figure, and when he_ actually_ smiled, it made him look magical. Jules' garment had an exquisite cut, its midnight blue sheen an impeccable match to his suave manners. A Dior, if Flynn wasn't mistaken. Now that he thought about it, he was kindly spared from wearing a tie but his senior wasn't. So there Jules stood, a convenient piece of silk hanging around his neck, choking him as Flynn hauled him to where they were supposed to be; looking for their suspect.

It didn't take long for the duo to come face to face with the wanted man. When they held their badges up, his ebullient expression turned sour.

"What can I do to help you?" His tone was sharp, demanding an unspoken quick cut to the chase.

"Mr. McGinnis," Flynn procured a photo from his coat pocket, "Do you recognize the man in the picture?"

For a brief moment, the man's face creased into a look that was bordering between rancor and mild abhorrence, "Why, yes I do." He took a sip of his cuvée de prestige* before allowing himself to carry on, "Anderson. My good man. All over the news."

"You don't seem alarmed by his sudden demise," Flynn's eyes narrowed, suspecting.

"He was a great business partner; but that was all. We were like black and white personality-wise. I preferred subtlety, he favored 'adventure'; I even told him it was going to cost him big someday. Looks like my predictions were spot on."

"What do you mean by that?" Jules spoke up.

Charles McGinnis looked over his shoulder for a moment, voice plunging into a whisper, "His wife – Ex, to be precise. Both have been at loggerheads ever since Anderson filed for divorce. She even called up to his office once to threaten to 'kill' him."

From the corner of his eye, Flynn could see Jules' lips curve into a smirk, "Any idea why?"

The man relaxed into his pose, arm slinking onto a nearby display case, "None at all. Anderson was a humble, down-to-earth lad; kept his personal matters to himself. But for whatever reason he did what he did, I'm sure it had to be a good one. 'Sides, I hadn't seen him for a month before this. Now, if you'll excuse me, gentleme-"

"Hold on. Where were you between two and four last night?"

"At my penthouse. You can ask the guards for confirmation." Charles gave both men a small nod before returning to his guests, leaving the police with more secrecies to uncover than ever.

On their way out, Flynn came to an abrupt stop at the sight of a stunning ruby wristlet, shining like a celebrity through the glass.

"Interested?"

"No, not really…." Flynn mumbled, eyes fixated on the gemstone, nostalgia ringing through his mind like a lifetime.

* * *

><p>The hefty bag swayed a little as a combo of lightning quick jabs connected with the bulk. Beads of perspiration trickled down his spine, leaving a cooling sensation as they evaporated. His panting was heavy but his speedy, powerful punches belied the exhaustion that was creeping into muscular arms. He finished the drill with a kick, sending the punching bag swinging.<p>

A loud wolf-whistle coated the immediate silence that took over once Flynn backed away, his head turning to discern its source.

"Look at who we have_ here_," its owner declared, shooting the blonde an impressive smirk. Yuri stood there, hair in a high ponytail, a willowy arm on the doorframe, another at the hip; his entire body curved into a suggestive arch.

"Hey," Flynn greeted breathlessly, reaching for his bottle by the bench. The ebony-haired man took a seat right next to him.

"So what's our reputable lawyer-to-be doing in a gym?"

Flynn stole another quick refreshing gulp of mineral water before retorting, "I've got to keep myself in shape, for work."

"Ah, I'm a cop," Flynn hurriedly added when Yuri quirked a brow.

When Flynn began to remove his padded fingerless gloves, Yuri put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Instead, the raven-headed man motioned for him to step into the matted area, putting on his own pair of mitts. Both men prepared their stances.

"You ready?" Yuri asked, full of anticipation.

"Whenever you are."

Flynn's opponent was nimble on his feet, springing forward before he even knew what was going on. He reflexively blocked the direct blow with his arms, utilising the split-second difference to slam his fist into Yuri's shoulder. The man staggered backwards, recovering so quickly that Flynn only half-realised a punch just swished past his nose. They exchanged a flurry of blows, some strikes connecting with muscled flesh, some others dealt with air. Nevertheless, the mild-mannered blonde was not to be underestimated for he took the opportunity to grab Yuri's arm when the latter was unguarded, throwing him over his shoulder. The man slammed hard into the ground, groaning in pain; his black tresses messily splayed all over the matt.

"Not bad," Yuri panted between huffs of breath, his chest continuously rising and falling.

Flynn laughed a bit, "Guess I won."

"Yeah you did… by the rules," Yuri said, tone whimsical, "But just so you know, _Flynn,_ I don't play by the rules."

Before Flynn's mind could even register the man's words, he felt his feet give way to the sudden impact to his ankles. Yuri's hair danced gracefully through the air as he spun on the ground, reverse roundhouse kick* connecting. The back of Flynn's head throbbed in pain as it came into contact with the cold, hard floor. He winced in discomfort, attempting to prop himself up by the elbow but failed when an unexpected weight grounded him. He closed his eyes, bracing for the fist, when it stopped short right before his nose.

"Haha, _loser._"

He huffed, head falling back as he chuckled; _How long has it been since he's had this much fun? _Too long ago. Too long for him to even remember.

"Fine, you win," Flynn surrendered, hoping that Yuri would release him. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable; hips straddled by the attractive man and all. But he didn't.

"Yu-" His breath hitched in his throat when a slim digit traced his jawline, leaving feathery light touches which left Flynn quivering. It trailed all the way down to his chest where it was replaced by a palm over his rapid heartbeat. A blush crept into his cheeks, hoping that the loud thumping of his heart would go unnoticed. Unfortunately, fate had more in store for him.

Yuri's enigmatic smile was replaced by a lop-sided smirk as he lowered himself to Flynn's ear, "You've got to be constantly prepared for ambush by your enemies, _cop_." The warmth of Yuri's breath lingered even when the man was already through the doorway; Flynn's face redder than it ever has been in the first 25 years of his life.

* * *

><p>The tap squeaked when it was turned, warm water raining down on blonde locks as Flynn stepped into the stall next to Yuri's. He closed his eyes, tense muscle knots loosening. He let out a contented sigh, azure eyes focused on the endless stream of water through the drain.<p>

He found himself stealing a few furtive glances at his neighbour, the scent of lavender floating through fogging steam. His dark hair fell over his shoulders, wet strands sticking to his cheek as he ran fingers through mid-length bangs. When he caught Flynn staring in awe, Yuri returned him with a smile.

"Like what you see?"

Flynn felt his cheeks heat up, coughing in absolute embarrassment. He pried his eyes away from meeting grey ones, fearing total obliteration of his being. Yuri's gaze has always been _tempting_, perilously bewitching; once you were trapped in it, it was as if you had lost all methods of exit. It was like Russian roulette, you paid the stakes with your life.

Flynn made a non-committal grunt, fingers tightly crossed in hopes that Yuri would let him off easy this time, which he surprisingly did.

"So… What made you a cop?"

The question was less personal, so Flynn eased up significantly. "Oh, I… wanted to help people…"

"...By seeking justice for those whose lives have been robbed unfairly… or solace for the loved ones left behind." His hands unconsciously balled into fists, his jaw clenched tightly.

"Are you telling that to me?"

"What…?"

"It sounded more like you were trying to remind yourself."

Flynn lifted his head, cobalt eyes widening in shock. "No, I-"

"_Relax_…" Yuri cut him short, trying to emphasise on his point. His slender arm found its way on top of the blonde's head, ruffling the wet locks into a complete mess before leaving the stall with a towel round his waist.

* * *

><p>The elevator doors opened with muffled rumbling, an unfocused Flynn strode out into the bleak looking room. His inattentiveness likened to the part of him which felt perturbed – <em>troubled<em> - by the reproachful look Yuri bored into him. It was like his very _conscience_ was being questioned.

_A noble cause_.

That phrase is what used to pop into Flynn's mind whenever he thought of law enforcement as a person's livelihood. Yet, his very reason – the driving force that led him here - betrayed him the more vivid his mental image of Yuri became.

"Flynn?"

_Was it right of him to be blaming Yuri for his current insecurities?_

"Flynnnnnnn?"

_Or was it merely the push he secretly desired to see beyond the truth of his own decisions?_

"Flynn!"

"Huh? Uh, yes?"

Flynn blinked, once, twice, vision refocusing on the present. His senior's apprehensive look occupied the entire canvas.

"You seemed kind of spaced out. You okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Flynn replied, a forced smile gracing his lips.

Jules' took a second to study his profile, visibly unconvinced, but he did not hap on the issue. That made Flynn breathe easy. Or so he thought. "A-Any new leads?"

"McGinnis' alibi checked out so… none at the moment," Jules shuffled through his stack of parchment, reorganizing messily scattered articles on his desk, "The boss told us to leave it for today."

A quizzical look etched on Flynn's face, "But it's only 8.30 isn't it?"

"Yeah well, I was about to suggest we hung out at my place. Pizza and a movie. You up for it?" Jules' customary grin swapped for his previous morose semblance. Upon closer inspection, Flynn noticed the lack of shine in those clear orbs, fatigue manifesting into dark creases around his eyes.

Flynn shook his head, giving his senior's shoulder a light shove, "You ought to rest."

Jules stared in disbelief for a second, quickly laughing it off.

"Flynn, if it's me you're worried abou-"

"_No_!" Flynn snapped, slightly harsher than intended, "I mean, no. It's just…" He exhaled in vexation, annoyed at himself.

The brunette's features softened, mild vigour lighting his eyes. He patted Flynn's shoulder gently before vanishing into the elevator without a syllable.

Flynn bit his lower lip, feet anchored to the ground; the familiar racket of the hectic department dissolving into an incomprehensible hubbub in the background.

* * *

><p>Looking through the glass, Flynn could perceive his mother eagerly learning the art of flower arrangement; a nurse guiding her patiently. Several stalks of white and pale yellow Camellias laid neatly on the low fibreglass table. When her head turned to his direction, she smiled at her son. An unpretentious smile. One he had missed for<em> so<em> long. He gave her a small wave, watching as she continued her progress with fervor.

At the sound of someone clearing his throat, Flynn's gaze drifted from the room to the unkempt doctor. From his tousled hair to the messy drape of the white coat, Dr. Schwann's appearance belied his professional status.

"Flynn, my boy, can I have a moment?"

Both of them sat in the reception, the doctor courteously offered Flynn a cup of steaming coffee from the dispenser. He left a few moments to silence before speaking up again.

"Your mum's much better now but…"

Flynn looked up from the swirling brown liquid in his paper cup, "But?"

"How do I put it…?" Schwann scratched the back of his head, lightly pounding a fist into his palm as if a brilliant idea just came to mind, "Your mum threw a tantrum last night."

"What?" Flynn rose from his seat, coffee droplets leaping from the mouth of the cup.

"Woahhh… Easy, kid!" Schwann squeaked, hastily motioning for the young man to sit. He sighed, "We managed to calm her down at the very least."

The doctor looked around, seemingly expecting someone to get him out of his pinch, "Okay, okay. Here's the deal; our nurses customarily perform a 'test' on our patients, especially those suffering from long-term depression."

"A test?"

"That's right!"

Schwann handed Flynn a printed photograph of several different species of florae. It resembled the hospice's private garden.

"The founder of this hospital had _always_ accentuated the importance of floriography* when she was still alive. She held a strong belief that a patient's concealed feelings or desires were revealed through his or her attraction to certain flowers."

Flynn's hand began to tremble, in rage or fretfulness, the doctor couldn't tell. Maybe it was a mixture of both, for grief curtained them till they were all an undistinguishable blend.

"Your mother… As you saw, took to the yellow and white Camellias growing in the garden. What she didn't know was that they hold the meanings of 'longing' and 'waiting' respectively."

Flynn went tight-lipped, prepared to be shot_ the_ question.

"Flynn… Is there something you're not telling us? Her recovery depends on-"

"It's just a coincidence!"

"Flynn…"

"I knew it… Dad, mum is… Mum's still waiting for you…"

Flynn hung his head low, burying it in his lap. They sat there in complete stillness for a while, the ticking of the wall clock reverberating off the walls. When it chimed the midnight bell, Schwann rose to his feet, gently patting Flynn's back as he headed for the long, unending hallways. The boy needed some time alone.

Sometime after, the doctor stopped in his tracks, grip tightening on the paper cup, crushing it. _It was just a white lie,_ _no harm done,_ he would always tell himself, yet, it didn't help soothe the guilt any better.

_"As if floriography could perform miracles," _Schwann snorted. If it did, then there would not be so many psychologically unstable patients sitting around in their hospice, hopes of salvage dwindling as the days passed. Some were a lost cause, refusing to even sketch their emotions on paper, let alone be taught the symbolism of flowers to communicate without words.

"_It is the only way to make our patients' relatives speak up – for everyone's own good," _the founder once said.

But he knew; knew that it was only a pathetic, convenient justification on their part. Was it really necessary to invade the boy's privacy? Wasn't what was written on the check-in forms good enough?

"_She's been in depression because of my dad's passing. That's all."_

Maybe the boy – Flynn – was just plain naïve. Maybe he just _didn't_ know what mattered and what didn't.

The memory of Flynn's mother joyously plucking Camellias as she said, "I'm waiting. Waiting for my dear to come home!" had been burnt into the back of the doctor's mind like a brand.

* * *

><p><em>It was like the world was out to get him<em>, Flynn thought while on the way home. It was late and he had missed the last ride home. He strolled along the empty walkway, the occasional cooling land breeze stirring up dried, fallen leaves. The doctor's words were embedded in his mind like a print.

Sometimes, he wondered, if he too were in denial.

It was wrong of people to say that he couldn't emphatise with his mother's struggle. He knew her suffering, he went through it as well, but at least _he_ chose to walk forward instead of living life in the past. At least he thought so.

And it wasn't like Flynn disapproved of his mum's yearning for his dad. He just _didn't want_ everyone else to keep reminding her of that fact. So he kept it hidden under a lid unless truly necessary. He knew. _Knew_ it would be a hindrance to her recovery.

The buzzing vibration of his cellphone disturbed his thoughts. Sighing, he fished the device from his jeans pocket, swiping the screen to read the newly arrived message.

"_Cheer up, rookie! :)"_

Flynn's disheveled thoughts melted into nothingness, sheer wonder unhesitant to take over. He stared at the screen for a long while, wondering how Jules managed to acquire his number. He continued his stroll, letting whatever may be, may be.

* * *

><p>Leaves ranging from shades of brown to yellow crunched beneath Flynn's boots. The scatter of fallen greenery indicated a quickly nearing autumn. Birds were preparing for flight and migration, temperature drops had been drastic.<p>

Even with the chill, teenagers noisily chattered past him, young boys rowdily cycled down the hills. He picked up a copy of the morning newspaper, dropping a few coins on the counter as he strode past a street kiosk. On the main page, the headlines read, "Politician's Murder Still A Mystery".

Flynn inhaled anxiously, anticipating the opening of the elevator doors. He straightaway paced over to Jules' desk.

"I-I'm sorry for yester-"

"It's cool, it's cool," Jules said, putting a hand on Flynn's shoulder. He took in a deep breath.

"As long as you are fine, you can take your time with your personal affairs."

"Jules…"

"Once you feel you're ready, you can share it with me."

His senior winked playfully, handing over a yellow envelope from his drawer. Flynn pulled out a dated photograph from it.

"Looks like Mr. McGinnis was lying to us. This was a shot caught on CCTV near the intersection between 20th Street and Vermont Avenue just 3 days before our victim died."

The scenery was dark and blurry due to the night rain but Flynn could clearly make out Charles McGinnis' figure punching Anderson Miller's jaw squarely.

"Anddd… Looks like we've successfully brought him in."

Flynn looked over his shoulder, observing their suspect who was protesting vociferously against being manhandled into the interrogation room.

Once seated, Charles smoothened out the creases on his fine, grey Armani, eyeing Flynn cautiously as the latter slid the CCTV captured image directly in front of him. He lifted a brow but didn't say anything.

"Mr. McGinnis," Jules started, "You said you last saw Mr. Miller a month ago, correct?"

"That is right."

"Then care to explain what that photo means?"

Charles' dark eyes travelled over to the picture, his haughty look still intact. He flicked the photograph for better view. Flynn remained quiet but deep down, he was wary of the detained man's calm behaviour.

"It seems like you_ lied_ to us. You said you last saw him a month ago. _Really_?" Jules' voice held a hint of mockery, "So, care to own up to any more lies?"

"Did you drug him? Cocaine?"

"What absurdity are you accusing me of, anyway?"

"_You_ tell me that!" Jules pounded a fist on the metal table, furious. That side of him scared Flynn a bit.

"So I did. I punched him. But only because it was at Charmaine's request."

"Spouting more bullshit, eh?"

"Ask her. Ask his _ex_. I'll be taking my leave now, then, gentlemen." The man tossed a piece of paper with a scribbled on phone number, a smirk on his lips when he exited through the door.

"Stay in town," Jules hissed before the door closed on them.

* * *

><p>Cursing under his breath, Jules banged the receiver down.<p>

"Still no luck?" Flynn offered a mug of coffee to his senior.

"Yeah, no…" Jules took it, brightening up, "Thanks. So, uhm, you still up for that?""

Flynn chuckled, "No, sorry. Maybe another time. I'm, uhm, in the middle of some paperwork."

Jules nodded, curling in his lower lip, disappointment showing, "Okay… Don't work too late then."

Flynn reached out to place a comforting hand over his senior's free one, removing it as briskly as he had put it there; marching away before his senior had a chance to query him about it.

Scrubbing his head in frustration, Flynn went over the newspaper clippings one more time. It was the same no matter how many times he looked at them; virtually _nothing_, except a 25 caliber bullet, could build them a link to their mysterious killer. He was a dangerous man who's been lurking in the shadows for years. _A threat to society, _Flynn thought.

Whenever he glanced over the 2001 news report, a stabbing ache would clutch at his heart. His father had been the first in a series of assassinations. Then it became more frequent as the years went by. More prominent men began to fall victim to the dreaded 25 cal. Every single time, there lacked a trace of evidence. The killer was intelligent. He calculated his moves, striking at precise moments when the public's attention was diverted. The very thought made Flynn _disgusted_.

Just as he was about to call it a night, the phone rang. Looking around, he wondered if he should pick up the call. And when he did, a woman's voice boomed through the receiver, "If you're calling to harass her again, I will-"

"Harass? Ma'am, what-"

"Oh. You're not Andy? Then who the hell are you?"

Flynn pondered for a moment, "I'm with the police."

"What do the police want with us?" Her voice lowered but it still sounded contemptuous.

"Could the 'Andy' you just referred to be Anderson Miller?"

"That's right. He's my younger bro."

"Would you mind explaining what you meant by 'harassing her'?"

There was a few good seconds of silence on the other end of the line before the woman spoke up again, "Are you really with the police?"

Flynn grinded his teeth, "Ma'am, Mr. Miller is dead. We're trying to solve his murder."

"What…?"

"If you could get us in touch with his ex-wife then maybe-"

"Hold on."

There was shouting in the backdrop for a while before the woman's voice returned. Much more sympathetic this time.

"Look, I'm sorry for earlier. It's just that-"

"I-It's alright, ma'am."

He heard her sigh into the handset before speaking, "I'm Melissa Miller. Charmaine and I went out of town ever since my useless brother filed a restraining order against her - with his corrupted power, of course – and now she's a mess."

"I'm surprised to hear that Andy's dead but I can tell you, he _definitely_ deserved it."

Flynn made a sound of acknowledgement.

"Surprised? Don't be. He was always fooling around, it's about time someone taught him a painful lesson."

"Ms. Miller, do you happen to know of Charles McGinnis?"

"Why, yes of course. Wait, do you think that he played a part in Andy's death?"

"Sort of. I was hoping you could drop by 11th Avenue tomorrow to give a statement and tell us everything you know," Flynn scribbled a reminder in his journal, "It's important because there has been rumors about Ms. Charmaine sending someone to gain revenge on Mr. Miller."

"Oh, why yes, yes of course. I'll bring her along, too."

After exchanging well wishes, Flynn put down the receiver, sending a quick message to inform Jules.

* * *

><p>Feeling drained, Flynn sauntered down the lonely sidewalk. The wind howled, rustling the leaves on weathered trees. The clock tower tolled its large bell as it announced the arrival of midnight. Absent-mindedly kicking a pebble as he moved along, he looked up when it collided with a pair of boots.<p>

"What's our favourite cop doing wandering around the streets at this hour?"

Yuri's arms held a plastic bag full of supplies, familiar grin plastered on his face.

"Yuri…"

"Yeah, that's my name," the black-haired man deadpanned.

Flynn felt warmth creep into his cheeks, gaze flying over to the convenience store instead of meeting grey eyes. He frowned.

"Geez, you really ought to lose some nerves, Flynn," he heard Yuri say, "You'll earn yourself wrinkles if you keep being so uptight."

Flynn laughed humorlessly. He was dead beat. All he wanted at the moment was to bury himself under fluffy pillows, tuning out the world around him.

"Come on, I'll walk you home," Yuri had offered and Flynn, contrary to his feelings, couldn't bring himself to say no.

They walked in silence, the street lamps casting an orange incandescence over their beings; long, obscure shadows trailing after them.

"Yuri…?"

"Hmm?" Yuri turned to look at him, pacing slowly along the pavers.

"What do you do when… you lose sight of reason…?"

Yuri pursed his lips, gazing up into the cloudless sky in deep thought, "When in doubt, follow what your heart tells you to do."

Flynn's eyes widened in surprise, "Yuri…"

"Yeah that sounded cliché but whatever. It's the principle of the matter."

Flynn could've sworn he saw a faint blush appear on Yuri's face so he laughed, heartily and freely. As he pushed the gate to his house open, his heart felt much lighter, "Thanks."

"Anytime."

They stood there for a long while, Flynn drowning in cryptic grey eyes; a wash of emotions overwhelming his very soul. Perhaps, there might come a time when he could finally forgive himself for denying his own selfishness.

Maybe.

_Just, maybe_.

* * *

><p>"I never did such a thing!" Charmaine exclaimed between sobs, her sister-in-law patting her on the back, "I regret marrying tha- that lascivious bastard!"<p>

"O…kay. So that makes another lie on the list," Jules muttered to himself, rolling his eyes.

Flynn stifled a yawn; it was barely eight in the morning when the two women showed up at the office. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to concentrate.

Melissa glowered at no one in particular, looking as if she were holding back the urge to smash the ash tray on the table to bits. She had dark hair, like her brother; a huge distinction from the frail, platinum blonde Charmaine whose eyes were already red and swollen when they first stepped in.

"Charmaine has been suffering like this for years, the poor girl," Melissa shook her head, "All because of Andy."

"I-It was after that one night… That everything fell to ruin," Charmaine chocked, wiping the tears from her eyes with a tissue, "I was shocked to find a few pairs of heels by the front door – I came back from work earlier than usual – and when I confronted him about it, h-he brushed me off."

"She works as a banking manager," Melissa supplied, comforting her in-law.

"There were so _many_ girls. Younggirls. When I traced his phone records, I came across this, 'Charles' guy. I only knew they used to be in business together, but..."

Charmaine brushed away the ringlets on her shoulder with the back of her hand, "I also came upon a threat letter sent to Andy regarding 'overdue payment' for the girls."

"Someone was pimping them?" Jules asked.

"It's Charles," Melissa snarled, "That was the last straw for Andy – when Charmaine found out. That's why he filed a false restraining order against her; to save his own smothering image. Ever since then, he had been calling up frequently to threaten her to keep his secret; said he would use all of his power and influence to make her life miserable if she didn't."

Flynn and Jules looked at each other in perplexity.

"But Mr. McGinnis was the one who gave us your number," Flynn stated.

"Oh, really? That means he's three steps ahead of you," Melissa spat, full of cynicism, "He's probably already on a plane right now."

* * *

><p>Jules' Volvo was driven at top speed, drifting around corners and skidding across junctions.<p>

"I've already sent uniforms to the penthouse," Jules spoke into his hands free Bluetooth headset, "I need backup."

He drove past the red light at 5th Street's junction, causing a small collision between oncoming drivers. Colourful vulgarities were bartered, the honking of enraged drivers causing a pollution of noise. Flynn held back a yelp, adrenaline rush dizzying him. It was a gamble against time but his senior's reckless driving made people think twice about risking it. When he spotted Charles' tall figure rushing out of a taxi cab, Jules hit the emergency break, hurling them forward.

"Stop!"

Flynn ran as fast as his legs could carry him, their suspect noticeably speeding through the entrance. The airport was full of activity at that time of the day, countless number of foreign travelers pulling their luggage past them, in awe at the scene. Muttering a few apologies as he roughly forced his way through the crowd, Flynn began to panic when the wanted man nearly vanished from sight. Left with no choice but to continue the pursuit, Flynn sprinted off through a different route, utilising rails and barriers as leverage despite protests from security.

When Charles was _just _about to past the airport check-in point, his baggage and identity registrations already approved of, Flynn pounced on him. The man tumbled to the floor; airline security officers slack-jawed, ignorant of what was taking place. A heavily panting Flynn dragged the man up onto his feet, arms held tightly behind him.

"Good job," Jules huffed, catching up to them with two other officers by his side. Charles remained indifferent when he was cuffed, means of escape foiled. His composure piqued the partners' interests.

"Tipping us off to buy yourself time, huh?" Jules asked, "You knew that Charmaine wasn't going to answer our call."

Charles kept quiet, not willing to speak up.

"I bet you didn't expect Ms. Miller to though. What was your reason?"

The apprehended man pulled a sour look as he spat, "That good-for-nothing Anderson thought he was all high and mighty, thinking he could get away without paying up for the girls. Costed me a bomb."

"Don't you think it's about time you owned up to the murder as well?"

"I _didn't _kill him. How many times must I-"

"Then who _did_?" Jules grabbed the man by the collar then shoved him aside violently.

Charles smirked before erupting into a fit of hysterical laughter, "Those guys are crazy, I tell you. _Sure,_ all they want is money for the jobs they take on. But _no one_, not even the police will be able to touch-"

There was the sound of a gunshot.

Just _one_.

It was an earsplitting blast, shocking every single individual present in the building. For a short moment in time, Flynn felt as though the instance had slowed down, the scene of Charles' guillotined head collapsing at a snail's pace to the ground. Blood rained, collecting into a messy puddle on waxed tiles. Screams of horror resonated throughout the airport as a simple, cutout paper doll came falling from above, settling on the freshly beheaded body; Flynn seething with indignation more than ever before.

**CHAPTER 3 – END –  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>*hors d'oeuvres: One bite appetizers<em>

_*canapés: Open-faced sandwiches which are normally served during cocktail hours_

_*vol-au-vent: A type of canapé which is a small, hollow case of puff pastry_

_*cuvée de prestige: A proprietary blended wine (usually a Champagne) that is considered to be the top of a producer's range_

_*(Low) Reverse Roundhouse Kick: More commonly known as Sweep Kick. Traditionally uses the heel to strike with._

_*floriography: Language of flowers. A popular Victorian-era means of communication to deliver coded messages and unspoken feelings.  
><em>

_**Author's Note:**_

_A special thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourited and/or alerted Shattered Illusion! Please continue supporting me!_

_I like trolling people *laughs* No, I'm just joking... Or maybe not. I actually have in mind, two very different routes which this story could follow. I normally like writing sorrowful, heart rendering open-endings for my stories but Shattered Illusion may become an exception. **So, readers, please support me and share your thoughts on tear jerker endings versus happily ever after endings! **_

_I hope the gym scene suffices to satiate the hunger of Yuri/Flynn shippers for the time being. People might flail about over the slight Jules/Flynn but… take it as you view it xD I tweaked this chapter so many times till I'm not even sure what to do with it. __Much more character-to-character conversations this time but I hope my balance between descriptions and dialogues is still smooth and fluid. _

_I'm also keeping my fingers crossed that nobody was left confused by the case and/or Flynn's inner struggles/hazy past memories. There will definitely be more insight on the latter, both vague and direct, in upcoming chapters. _

_Hope this chapter was even better than the previous ones!_


	5. Chapter 4: Secrets

_**Author's Note:**_

_To everyone who has reviewed, favourited and/or put Shattered Illusion on alert, thank you! To everyone else who have read thus far, thank you for giving me a chance.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>- Chapter 4: Secrets -<br>**

_Flynn finally came to understand why Yuri's words struck a sore spot in his heart._

One ear-piercing shot_, _followed by two more; the digits on the computerised scoreboard skyrocketed.

_It backed him into a dead-end, made him question his own choices, his own decisions, without running away again._

He emptied the magazine, inserting new rounds, aiming closely for the slow turning targets.

_Why had he come to Zaphias in the first place?_

He pulled the trigger, unwavering; precise aims yielding into perfect headshots.

_It wasn't because of his mother's wellbeing. No. It was just a fancy, expedient excuse he had been using to convince himself and the world with. Fact was that it would've been better for her if they had stayed away…_

The lights flashed red, alarm beeping in rhythm to signal a short reload time interval.

_Was that selfish of him? To just up and leave on a whim to satiate the drive that gave his life meaning? Yes, of course. His father's murder constantly reminded him that he is indeed still human; weak and powerless to take the next step even though he's right here, in Zaphias, the starting point of the 25 cal tragedy._

He gave the handgun a small shake, empty cartridge sliding out effortlessly, casings clattering as they struck the ground.

_Many have likened the case gone cold to 'Pandora's Box' due to the unfortunate nature of death befallen upon nosy journalists and impulsive PIs*. It was often whispered about in the midst of busy cafés, crowds of people awaiting the next train and as off-handed discussions between chess players in the park. They made sure to keep their voices low, fearing that the shadows would creep upon them if they ever went too far. Every conversation, however, always concluded that it was a case better left dead, old and forgotten, an unsolved mystery for all eternity. _

The small, quick-moving target board was taunting him; weaving in and out between other larger, stationary pieces. The timer blinked in huge green numerals as the seconds passed. Only half a minute left.

_Flynn was made aware by his ex-captain that it was a huge risk, to thread upon such a dangerous subject; the price to pay much more than just his life alone. People went on with their lives, forgetting about it all once the hype died down in the years that followed. But never for a second has Flynn once forgotten._

His steely blue gaze locked onto the high scoring target.

_Why the sudden comeback? That in itself was a mystery he wanted to unfold. He swore upon his father's grave that he would never fall victim to the lethal black widow; web extensively woven, jaws wide open, lying in wait for its next unsuspecting prey._

His forefinger bent, he took the shot.

_He only wanted a definite end to this nightmarish massacre. No more tears, no more mourning, no more victims. _

_No more._

The dreaded siren echoed loudly in the soundproof room, signaling another of Flynn's failure at the special target practice. He groaned, fingers massaging his aching temples. The door slammed open and Jules paraded in, "Well done! You breached your old score."

The blonde removed his eye protection, grimacing at Jules' zeal, "I failed, _again_, Jules. I don't see what's there to celebrate."

His senior merely laughed, exuberance clearly not shaken.

"What's so funny?"

Jules gave him two hard whacks on the back, "You just reminded me of myself when I was your age."

"Aren't you mad, _at all_?" Flynn snapped incredulously, "The sniper must be laughing his head off at our stupidity! Damn it…!" He stuffed his pair of shooting gloves into his coat pocket grumpily. It was_ tiring_ to live each day knowing full well that they had let the killer slipped through their fingers yet again. Sleepless nights gave themselves away by forming dark rings beneath once bright, sapphire blue eyes. Never before had Flynn felt so worn down.

Jules scoffed at his junior, amused. His clear eyes still held a hint of mirth but they were also twinkling with pride and fondness for the boy. It felt déjà vu to see the ghost of his past taking form as the boy standing before him. After all, who could blame the boy for feeling what he felt?

Flynn's adorable pout was an unexpected bonus, though.

"Well… After being in the force for so long, I eventually came to learn that sometimes things just don't always go the way we want them to."

Jules picked up the glock 19 from the counter, one hand gently prying Flynn's clenched fist open. He placed it into the boy's palm, "That's why we fight, right?"

"Jules…" Flynn grasped the handgun tightly, feeling fairly ashamed of his own behaviour, "I'm sorry." He shuffled his feet in unease. _Probably reprimanding himself mentally_, Jules noted with amusement.

The brunette grinned, easy and carefree, "Now that's the Flynn I know of. Come on, I'll treat you at Cravings."

* * *

><p>The café was full of life, as usual. They were sitting outside for a change. The bubbly conversations of patrons and the animated chitchat of passersby traversed through the air, falling only on keen ears; drifting into the milieu for others. There were some who were savouring their cup of coffee, daily papers in hand. There were also a few who relaxed, sat back and soaked in the atmosphere, simply relishing each other's company.<p>

It made Flynn realised that life goes on even if people had lost or gained a few things. Even so, it wasn't right for someone else – other than the law – to play God, to deliver judgment upon criminals who were supposed to be convicted. Even if Anderson G. Miller and Charles McGinnis had sinned, had succumbed to temptation, nobody, _absolutely_ _nobody_ deserved to face death in such a gruesome manner.

"The day's special for our favourite cop," Yuri's voice snapped him out of his day dream, returning him to the present. A fantastic slice of key lime pie was laid neatly in front of him. "Thanks, Yuri," Flynn looked up and was met with an arrogant smirk.

"Yuri," Jules smiled slightly when the raven-headed patissier served him his order of a mixed berry trifle. He placed a gentle hand on Yuri's. For a split second, Flynn saw a flash of hesitance on Yuri's features, but it vanished without a trace when he hastily pulled away. "Juls," Yuri nodded, darting through the main door with the stainless steel tray.

Flynn's gaze travelled from the closing door to Jules' smug look, searching for a decent enlightenment. He took his fork and started picking at the pieces of lime garnishing his pie, trying not to look _too_ curious. Jules barked a laugh at him.

"Speak up, Flynn. I know something's bugging you."

Flynn tilted his head and gently placed his fork down, thinking twice about whether he ought to be prying. Jules helped him with that.

"It's about Yuri and I, right?"

"Sort of…" Flynn wouldn't meet his eyes, preferring to focus on the posh, silver Mercedes parked across the street.

"We…" Jules cleared his throat, settling his gaze on the confectionery display through the glass, "He and I had a thing going on - well, sort of. It was more of a summer fling than anything else though."

"Why didn't it last…?" Flynn sounded somewhat rueful; sincerity palpable.

"We were young. Fresh out of high school," Jules took a spoonful of his trifle, savouring the divine sweetness as it melted in his mouth, "Didn't know where life would take us, so we had fun."

Flynn made a non-committal grunt, a little surprised at himself for snooping, a bit regretful that he did.

"The fun never really lasts…" Jules trailed off, melancholy lacing his every syllable, "_Hell,_ it wasn't just the two of us; we had one night stands with a couple of others too. Never really got attached." Jules chuckled, reminiscing old memories.

"Even my longtime fiancée broke up with me last spring. Lack of communication and stuff."

"Sorry to hear that," Flynn stared down into his lap, fingers clutching at the hem of his coat. He hadn't expected their conversation to take a depressing turn. For once in quite a long while, he began to deliberate if forever keeping others at an arm's length would become a huge regret in the long run. _But if it were crucial to solve his father's murder then…_

"What about you, Flynn?"

"E-Eh?"

Flynn quickly shifted his gaze away from meeting the piercing clear eyes of his senior. They always seemed to read him like an open book. Scratch that;_ everyone_ in Zaphias seemed to do so, much to his newly discovered dismay. "I…"

"I'm doing alright." With the way he forced a smile, it was no big surprise that Jules' expression darkened. Yet again, he had to let the cat out of the bag…

"….I'll be honest with you, Flynn. I've… always wondered when will you ever let someone break down that invisible wall you've built around yourself…"

If there were such a thing as lessons that taught a person how to _lie_ better, Flynn was convinced that he desperately needed to attend one soon. The 'tch' sound he made under his breath must have been apparently audible, if not written all over his features because Jules sounded really apologetic in his tone. "Flynn, I really didn't mean to…"

"It's okay," Flynn lifted his head, eyes leveled with his senior's. Better be sorry now than never, "It's okay, Jules… It's the truth."

"Flyn-"

"Will you come with me to the hospital?"

"Flynn…"

"I'll…"

_What then? Tell Jules that he's on the verge of going basilisk because of the 25 cal murderer? That his only goal in life has been to put a bullet through the man's skull? And that he didn't need any more troublesome 'bonds' or 'attachments' to prevent him from achieving that? _

_Yeah, right._

He cleared his throat, "I'd like you to meet my mum."

* * *

><p>The minute he stepped into the art and crafts room, his mother skipped over to him and hugged away all the breath left in his lungs. It was a refreshing sight to see her full of life and less frequently fiddling with mementos and ornaments that held longing for her husband. She even looked pleasantly surprised to see Jules by his side, commenting off the top of her head that "Flynn has been neglecting his social life far too long" and that "It's a nice change of pace for her dear son". She even jokingly – Flynn, hoped – said that Jules should make him loosen up more and teach him how to see more to life than just work. His cheeks <em>definitely<em> heated up to a whole new shade of red as Jules laughed his head off despite the couple of punches to his biceps. The nurses comically thought that he was running a fever, dashing off for some analgesics.

"Oh Flynn, your mum is awesome," Jules said between a few laughs, "…And she's really pretty."

"I hope you're not into older women because she's unavailable, I assure you," Flynn chewed on his bottom lip, footwork steady and slow in the stroll around the hospice's private garden. It was a chilly evening; sun basking the scenery in a reddish orange hue from across the horizon, setting majestically through the cloudy haze. Mountain peaks were already beginning to appear slightly frosty.

"Seriously?" Jules laughed, each violent blow of autumn breeze messing his copper locks, "Gee, Flynn, I guess your mum _is _right. You gotta loosen up."

"S-Shut up…"

Flynn pulled the collar of his jacket higher, the biting cold sneaking through thin fabric. Looking around, there were a couple of elderly women who were busy knitting scarves and sweaters as nurses wheeled them around. A few men well past their 70's were busy bickering over some drinks by the garden tables. There were also a number of young women - about his mother's age - plucking flowers and giggling with one another.

Flynn fiddled with a couple of chrysanthemums nearby, self-absorbed in the past once more. Finding the right words to relate everything to Jules proved far more difficult than he had imagined it to be. To release the weight of matters bottled within his heart to Jules would mean shackling the man to him, to his worries, to his selfish world of vengeance. He couldn't afford that…

Jules caught him in his misty daze, eyes unfocused, his mind, out of the world. It was only when he was given a rough shake by the shoulders did he snap out of his daydream. A warm hand found its way to his forehead.

"You might be catching a cold," Jules said, his hand shifting to rest on Flynn's neck.

"Jules…I…"

"…You don't have to talk if you really don't want to…"

Flynn was taken aback, astonished gaze locked with Jules'. The sincerity reflected in those eyes stirred a pang of guilt in him. He back stepped, putting some distance between the both of them. The close contact made him uncomfortable, his rapid heartbeat an apparent sign of it. Just when he was about to believe that his luck had run out, the brunette's cell rung, once again playing the infamous role of a life-saving distraction from the awkward silence that he himself had created.

Not caring that he had sighed rather audibly, Jules fumbled for the device, face indifferent as he answered the call. Even without the loudspeaker option switched on, Flynn managed to distinguish their captain's voice on the line. It sounded urgent.

"Yes, sir," Jules flicked a thumb towards the exit, signaling their need to leave promptly.

The drive on the way back to the department was the epitome of awkwardness. Flynn chose to stare blankly out of the window, Jules kept quiet at the wheel. The only sound was made by the jubilant talk of the radio DJs regarding concert tickets and some senseless debate over social issues. Reality seemed to have faded out through the back of Flynn's mind, an unpleasant mix of conflicts nagging at his being.

"Ta-da!"

The sound of the elevator door shutting close flew over the top of his head. Flynn stayed rooted to the ground, eyes widening, jaw gapping at the display of flamboyant costumes held up by Captain Marquise. "What're all these for…?"

"It's for the costume party tonight. The tip off, remember?" Jules tugged at an outlandish red pirate coat from their captain's grasp before quickly discarding it to the floor with a noise of disgust, "No way are we wearing these though."

Flynn chuckled behind a hand, their captain shooting them a look of disbelief. "Back in my time, these were gems!"

"I say, captain! Let us wear them!"

"Yes, indeed! Let us honour them!"

The two tweedles stood at attention, seriousness carved into their expressions that it actually made Jules and Flynn start laughing at how silly the situation seemed. Marquise glared at the both of them for a second, eyes sparkling with pride when he turned to the rookies. They definitely won some brownie points for the enthusiasm.

* * *

><p>Even from twenty feet away, the loud pounding of the music playing in the building could be traced. The vibrations were like a poor earthquake simulation; neon lights embellishing the entrance, an eye-catching sight at such an hour. Flynn and Jules marched over to the guard by the entrance, holding up passes which their captain had managed to obtain just an hour before. They were in plain clothes. Adecor, garbed in a classic pirate's outfit with an eye patch to boot, strode through the door with his nose high up in the air. Boccus was offered a cabin boy's costume, much to his dissatisfaction.<p>

Inside, a grand chandelier hung above; the only proper source of lighting, save for the scented candles in each corner of the spacious room. It was a nineteenth century costume party, invitees each dressed in outfits reminiscent of old England and classic fairy tale characters of the past. There were also a few who donned Wild West clothing, raising their mugs of rum to a toast as they gambled with some cards. Quite a few women wore debutante dresses; some had masquerade masks on, some did not. There was even a Parisian Phantom of the Opera, exhibiting his singing capabilities in the middle of the crowd. Lest to say, Jules and Flynn had made the wrong decision and actually stood out like a sore thumb in plain tees and cargos.

But it wasn't to say that their mission was over, just yet.

Whispering instructions on how to get their hands on the drugs if they were offered some among the mass, Jules ushered the tweedles to the dance floor, crossing his fingers ever so slightly. He joined Flynn by the bar, their gaze focused on the reflection of the crowd in the huge mirror across them.

"Hey, handsome…"

Fingers with red painted nails scratched Yuri's cheek lightly, settling gently on his shoulders. The warmth of the woman's body seeped through as she pressed close against his back, arms encircled around his waist. He didn't return the intimacy offered, grey eyes fully focused on the party three floors below. She clicked her tongue irritatedly, strutting off to the opposite end of the off-limits viewing box; their presence was a mere shadow in the background, hidden by the large curtains which extended to the many floors below.

A striking scarlet one piece covered her body; black netting decorated her exposed thighs all the way down to her stilettos, her wavy red hair fell off her shoulders as she puckered her rosy lips. "You're no fun."

"Aww… Laurelle. Is this the part in the script where I'm supposed to say sorry?"

It didn't take a genius to know that the man was smirking behind the black mask covering the lower half of his face. Yuri's dark hair was worn in a bun, countless silver pins keeping them tidy underneath the matching black hat he had on. Other than the violet scarf trailing after him every time he moved, his outfit was completely midnight black, designed for fluid movement rather than aesthetic values.

It was only when the crowd started to dance in sync with the thunderous music did Yuri begun to position his rifle on the railing. He peered through the infrared night vision scope, searching the colony of grooving figures on the flashy dance floor for a _particular_ _victim_ requested of his client…

Ah, there he was.

The man, dressed as a 70's rapper, sneakily maneuvered himself among the people who were already high and drunk in the stuffy atmosphere; his quick hands preoccupied with passing around what seemed like mint pellets.

With a smirk, Yuri raised the firearm, aiming for the grand chandelier…

Flynn pretended to take a sip of the Guinness Stout in his glass, trying to avoid ending up tipsy before they even caught the drug dealer who was supposedly present that night. Jules, out of boredom, had already downed several glasses_. But at least he was still sober_, Flynn thinks… _hopes_… Never once did he let his gaze off the crowd's reflection until…

He sensed something was wrong.

Even when there was a huge gust of autumn wind through the windows on the second and third floors, the curtains barely swayed in the upper sections. Squinting for sharper view, Flynn's suspicions proved right as the curtain lifted for half a second, revealing the glistening tip of a rifle, readied for aim.

His chair fell over as he rose in panic. The exact moment he cried out, there was a loud burst, followed by the crash of the chandelier upon several bodies. Blood splattered all across the room, the clamour of spectators tuning out any coherent shouts from both Jules and him. The next few violent breezes from the open windows kissed away the flames of the candles, finally plunging everyone into total darkness.

The shock, however, didn't end there.

There was another loud gunshot. The bullet decapitated a man of average height, who fell to the floor with a loud thud; thousands of white morphine pills scattering in the mix of fresh blood. His bandanna covered head rolled among the mess of broken shards.

It was the drug dealer, their wanted man.

"Damn it!"

"Flynn? Hey, Flynn…! Wait!"

Even in the dark, Flynn smoothly navigated himself between trembling individuals towards the spiral stairs, hoping that today was the day he ended this. Adecor had beaten him to it though, gleefully taking two steps at a time whilst muttering something about 'promotions' and 'proving it to everyone'. The third floor was an untidy muddle of construction resources meant for the upper floors, cement and broken timber barricading the entrance to the off-limits box. The unlatched electrical fence was evidently tampered with, its door left slightly ajar to jeer at them as part of the aftermath.

* * *

><p>At the nearing sound of footsteps, Yuri hurriedly tossed his rifle into his partner's arms. Laurelle ran backstage to unlock their only means of exit whereas Yuri stayed grounded, prepared to fend their visitors off to buy her time. He made sure to use the darkness to his full advantage.<p>

It took everything in him to not laugh in sheer ridicule at his opponent. Adecor appeared before him, sounding like a cheesy police-wannabe who apparently woke from the wrong side of the bed and was dressed up by his gran as Captain Hook from Peter Pan. When he actually let his contained laughter loose, Adecor's face began to resemble a ripe tomato, angrily snarling as he threw a pathetic punch forward - for he, had no weapons.

None at all.

Yuri twirled around, dodging easily as he back flipped. He sashayed forward, throwing a butterfly kick* right into Adecor's face; his black combat boots ending the blow with a satisfying crack of the lanky man's nose.

"Gaaaaaaah!"

The rookie cop tumbled backwards, head colliding with some metal rods leaning against the pillar; his broken nose, a nasty sight. The echo of Flynn's voice surprised Adecor's attacker, who skipped away deeper into the shadows. When Flynn reached the bleeding man's side, the latter puffed himself up in pride, trying his best not to let the floodgates run amok.

Flynn held up his handgun, pointing it at the non-moving silhouette hiding behind the curtains.

"Hands in the air…"

The assassin did not move so much as a twitch of the brow.

"Didn't you hear me?"

Flynn's vision was already accustomed to the dark by then, the pale glow casted into the building by the new moon lining the shape of his most hated person in the world. It was well over a minute before the man lifted his chin, menacing smirk obvious regardless of the piece of cloth veiling it. It made the life-long fury suppressed within his heart boil over…

"Let's go!"

A silky, ladylike voice resonated from the deeper pits of the darkness beyond them, snagging Flynn's attention off the man for a fraction of a second. Before he knew it, the man darted off a few quick steps ahead. Flynn, in reflex, pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through the man's left shoulder. His enemy flinched a little due to the impact but kept a steady hand as he tossed a silver butterfly knife right at Flynn. The blade grazed his cheek, warm, crimson fluid seeping out of the cut. As Flynn stood to chase after the fleeing figure, a pungent gas chocked his lungs.

"Flynn! Flynnnnnnnnnnnn!"

An unremitting cough took over him, he fell to his knees. His consciousness began to leave him, "Ju… les…?"

The world then faded out black.

* * *

><p>"Tch…"<p>

Yuri winced in pain as the bullet embedded into his shoulder was crudely removed. There was no use of anaesthetic to make the procedure more bearable. He gritted his teeth, using all his might to not slap away the pair of tweezers digging into his raw flesh. The wound was deeper than he had expected.

"You should count yourself lucky that I was assigned to assist you. You're always overdoing things alone..." Laurelle commented, tone a combination of amusement and exasperation. "I seriously didn't want to waste that smoke grenad-"

"Fine, fine. I'm sorry. Happy now?"

Yuri raised his arms as high as they allowed him to in mock defeat. He sighed.

Laurelle bit on her lower lip, far from being gentle as she dabbed some antiseptic around the wound. The raven-headed man hissed at the stinging pain.

"_Damn that Flynn… Of all people..."_ Yuri dug his nails into his thigh, trying his best to refrain from letting loose his broad vocabulary of vulgarities. It wasn't solely due to the physical pain he had to endure. A part of his pride felt like it took a huge walloping as well. He's not usually that careless.

No, he has _never _been this careless before.

Alexei was sure to do a number on him for it.

"Argh… What now, Laurelle?" Beads of perspiration trickled down his forehead, his wound throbbing under the woman's rough treatment. Did her attention fly off to focus on ogling at another male passerby, _again_? That'd make it the fifth time of that night.

Really, which human - with the exception of Laurelle – could actually see the faces of people fifty feet below? They were on the _tenth floor_ of an abandoned apartment complex, for Heaven's sake.

"Alexei!"

Yuri froze at the mention of his name. He could feel the man's gaze narrow upon his bare back. Laurelle was quick to abandon his treatment, preferring to latch onto the tall man's arm like a koala. Hearing the man's deep voice utter the syllables of his name made a chill run down his spine. He pretended not to hear, clumsily tearing at the roll of bandage.

"_Lowell._"

His breath hitched in his throat. That tone of voice…

Reluctantly, he slowly glanced over his shoulder, grey eyes void of emotions as they held the fort against Alexei's radioactive gaze. His whole face was crumpled into a bitter scowl, obviously not pleased with his 'Ace' for the slip up two hours ago.

"I've got the job done, isn't that enough?"

Yuri tossed all the first aid tools into their designated box, pulling his jacket over his shoulders. He literally froze as the dreaded weight which was Alexei leaned over his back, hot breath hitting the shell of his ear as he whispered, "Do you need punishment to be tamed again…?" The jacket slid off his shoulders, exposing his shivering figure to the cold touch of the older man's fingers.

Yuri resumed breathing only when Yeager's German accented voice called for Alexei, leaving him with just that one threat.

It was only a matter of time until Alexei began ordering the murder of anyone involved with him, though… And to prevent that he just had to be extra careful during the next jobs.

After all, Flynn was just an unexpected addition to the equation that night… right?

"Have no mercy, _Yuri Lowell_. Compassion is your greatest weakness."

Alexei smirked as Yuri was rendered speechless. He disappeared through the doorway with Laurelle glued to his arm. Yeager and twins, Gauche and Droite - who were back from the States for a short break - followed suite, waning like the moon behind the darkest of clouds.

Finally left alone, Yuri flopped onto the ground, head resting on his purple scarf. The way Alexei muttered those words irked him to no end. To Yuri, those very words were only privileged to his 'dad', the enigmatic man who walked out of his life when he turned sixteen winters old.

The man with hair as white as the snow that carpeted Zaphias every year end…

The man who never reappeared no matter where he trekked in the twenty inches of frost…

The man who came and go, leaving him empty like the transience of wintertime…

"_You old man…"_

Yuri brought a shaky finger to his eyelids, wiping away the tears which threatened to fall.

* * *

><p>"Flynn, <em>for God's sake<em>, that's enough!"

Jules snatched the glass of vodka from Flynn's loose grasp, steadying the heavily intoxicated boy from toppling over. Judith observed in amusement from the sidelines, deciding to steer clear of the altercation.

"You've just been checked out of the hospital!"

Flynn batted Jules' hand away from his face, his fingers reaching up to trace the tiny slit which was already covered by a band aid. Shoving his senior aside, Flynn swaggered woozily out of the Black Bess, regurgitating all of his stomach contents into a potted plant conveniently placed nearby. Initially impressed by his junior's capability to hold his own against three bottles of alcohol, all mesmerised feelings Jules had soon morphed into worrisome guilt. If only he knew earlier that Flynn was the kind to go all out…

"Flynn, come on…"

Carrying the drunken young man all the way up to his fifteenth floor apartment was no easy feat. Jules laughed inwardly, genuinely surprised by the fact that Flynn could be such a dead weight. He shifted the drowsy blonde on his back, begging the elevator doors to hurry before circulation of his arms cut off. After a triumphant battle with the lock, Jules spared no mercy to kick the door wide open, neglecting the need to remove their shoes by the entrance. He carefully laid Flynn onto the leather couch, stretching his arms to have feeling return to them.

Feeling a slight tug on his sleeve, the brunette looked down to gaze into half-lidded azure eyes. He gently ran fingers through his partner's hair, brushing stray locks from the somnolent boy's face.

"Dad… always told me…"

Jules stopped stroking blonde hair.

"…he told me… to live life to the… fullest… Not chase after… shadows of evil men… like he… did…"

Flynn finally closed his eyes and nodded off to dreamland, probably unaware of what he had just mumbled aloud. Jules tenderly watched the boy sleep; Flynn's chest rising and falling steadily as he rested soundly. It took all of Jules' willpower to curl his fingers and pull away.

Flynn looked so _vulnerable_ at that moment.

A little longer and Jules might've lost all restrain _even if_ he knew what the implications of his actions were.

He removed his coat and tucked Flynn with it, backing away as quickly as he could manage. Scrolling through his list of contacts, Jules dialed the one number he dreaded yet could never rid himself off; quietly taking the call in his own bedroom.

**CHAPTER 4 - END –**

* * *

><p><em>*PI: Abbreviation of 'private investigator', often informally spelt as 'private eye'.<em>

_*Butterfly Kick: A popular jumping kick in martial arts such as Wushu and Taekwondo._

_(If anyone wants to know how the kick actually looks like, I suggest searching for Shaolin martial arts videos - which are pretty professional, in my opinion. There are certain home videos demonstrating the move but they don't really capture the beauty of the trick. Plus, them insisting that the move is too 'simple' and 'impractical' kind of ticks me off *laughs*)_

_**Author's Note:**_

_Hey, guys! Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I know it's a little later than usual, part of it thanks to art muses hogging up my time slots *laughs*, another reason is due to a nagging worry in the back of my head that I might be suffering from what seems like mild carpal tunnel syndrome, yet again. The last time it struck, I kind of broke down emotionally because it affected my writing in classes and during exams (Which have left a bitter taste in my mouth). I even tried training myself to write with my other hand and well… I think now's a good time to continue the effort, no? So for now, I've decided that I cannot stay on the laptop (keyboard, specifically) for too long without constant breaks and that'd apparently mean Shattered Illusion chapters will be facing unwanted delays from now onwards. I'm sincerely sorry and thank you for your kind understanding. _

_AMBIDEXTERITY HERE I COME~ Support me, guys? X3_

_While writing the first half, I admittedly sort of hated it. My vocabulary felt so dry and sometimes, I wonder if readers would understand the message I'm trying to get across with all the choppy, vague nonsense I scattered here and there *laughs*_

_So, uh, reviews are highly appreciated! Till next time~_

_EDIT: I know that I tend to abuse commas in my writing b-but... *bawls* I have no idea how to address this issue (which didn't seem so big of a deal before this...) Some sentences look and sound so funny without them... A HUGE APOLOGY TO ANYONE IRKED BY THIS 'PROBLEM'!_


	6. Chapter 5: Chaos

**- Chapter 5: Chaos -**

Meandering down the cobblestone walkway with no particular destination in mind, Flynn huffed a few exasperated breaths, trying to recollect foggy memories. Being drunk had fewer perks than the ones capable of being counted by fingers. A well-deserved migraine only served to remind him of how awful he has been feeling since the night.

Something he didn't need.

Something he would be better without.

The gentleness of the morning breeze soothed his overactive nerves a little better. It calmed him.

_Just like Jules_, he thought.

When he had woken up in an unfamiliar environment at dawn, panic literally struck him to the core. His throbbing temple brought back tiny pieces of memories of his prior awareness to passing out. It struck him hard to think that he had recklessly drowned himself whole, even when he had already promised himself long ago not to… Not until the community could sleep in peace without fears of a single 25 calibre altering their lives forever.

"_That bastard's still out there…"_ Flynn had thought first thing in the morning with forlorn dread.

Sound advice to cherish the past as a painful lesson and to bury it with a better future was all philosophical gibberish in Flynn's dictionary. His therapist may have told him that his only pathway to healing was to let go of the reigns of his obsession, but it didn't mean that he would abide by it. Eventually, everyone around him would have to come to terms with the fact that Flynn was never going to back down from his own personal witch hunt.

Those seeking for a romantic connection with him would have to understand that his fixation would still be prioritised. Those who loved him platonically would have to stay out of his way until he's done chewing the man out. And those who thought that his life was worth more than just one man, well, they're _wrong_.

So be it.

When he stumbled weakly off the couch that morning, a pair of strong arms had caught him from diving into a fall. He twisted his head, coming face-to-face with his senior with barely a few inches apart. It made Flynn's heart skip a terrifying beat. Pulling away with a palette of red dusting his cheeks, Flynn squawked a chocked apology as he tried to regain balance. His eyes found the mural-painted wall on the opposite end of the room much easier to look at than the dripping wet figure of the bare-chested brunette.

"T-Thanks for the hospitality, Jules…. I… I ought to be going now…" he had mumbled shyly, eyes downcast and finding the Persian rug by the doorway much more interesting very suddenly. He had handed the coat that blanketed him throughout the night back to his senior but was only returned with a light shove on the back.

"Keep it. It's cold out there."

Jules had flashed him a smile so brilliant and so charming that the word 'no' seemed to have vanished entirely from Flynn's mental vocabulary altogether.

Contained frustration made Flynn grit his teeth and tug at his uncombed locks of hair. Jules' open-handed kindness made him feel weak. _Made him feel like he imposes too much_.

In the midst of wondering what he could do to return all the owed favours, he found himself right in front of his regular haunt. The little silver bell tinkled as he forced the glass door open, a merry albeit rarely heard voice welcoming him from over the counter.

"Oh Flynn! So good to see you!" Estellise immediately made it a point to not leave him standing unattended. She took his freezing ungloved hands in hers, frowning at the purplish hue decorating them as if adamant on betraying his next words.

"Estellise, I'm fin-"

"Flynn! How could you leave without gloves and a scarf? Stay right where you are! I'll get you a hot cup of espresso."

Despite how busy the café looked, something seemed amiss to Flynn. He stayed obediently rooted, trying to figure out what it was during the three minutes it took for the jovial fluff of pink to return with a packed cup of caffeine.

"Here…" she panted breathlessly, exhaustion clearly eating away at her, "I'm sorry… We're really understaffed. Not having Yuri around makes it even more difficult."

"Yuri?" Flynn questioned, finally realizing what the café was lacking, "Where is he?"

"He called in sick this morning," Estelle said regrettably, "I just hope he doesn't catch the bout of flu spreading around."

Flynn patted her shoulder, smiling as he dropped a few coins on the marble counter.

"He'll be alright, I'm sure."

* * *

><p>The typical 'ding' noise made by the elevator signaled the suspenseful opening of its heavy doors. Flynn quickly drew fingers through his blonde turf of hair and puffed himself up, practising a convincing smile to hopefully hide the fatigue that showed. Two steps out and Flynn basically crashed into a warm, broad chest. A strong grip steadied him by the shoulders, allowing Flynn some visual space to discern the man's profile. "Oh, Jules…" Flynn gave him a quizzical look, momentarily forgetting to don a mask that was all smiles, "What is it?"<p>

"Flynn, you're unwell so take it easy today. We can manage the paperwork for the drug dealer's case without you, alright?" Jules spoke so fast, Flynn's tired mind barely registered anything he had heard, "Wh-What…?"

Before he knew it, he was being pushed back into the elevator. "H-Hey… Wait, Jules!" From the small crack as the doors came to a close, Flynn could see the man grinning and waving him off.

Knowing full well that taking the lift up again would only present him the same results, Flynn sighed and strolled off a different route on 11th Avenue, one he didn't usually travel. The ten minute walk led him to the central park where children and adults alike were having fun, either on the jungle gyms and swings or on the benches, chatting away the time of their lives.

When a little girl with pigtails tripped and fell on the concrete, her knee earning a bleed and her eyes watering, Flynn realised how pain, both physical and metaphorical, remind people that they're _alive_. He jogged over to the crying child, patted her on the head and reassured her that everything was going to be okay. Within a short period of time, the girl was already trying to stifle her sobs and as a reward for her courage, Flynn procured a wrapped candy from his jeans pocket, almost chuckling over how Yuri probably 'foresaw' this event and decided to stuff some sweets in there the last time he came around.

"_Hey, nice jeans. Lemme check it out," _Yuri had said as he deliberately put his hand into Flynn's back pocket. Even now, Flynn swears Yuri's sole purpose of doing that was to see him blush furiously. His jeans, after all, didn't even have a label.

Several heartbeats later, an upset woman in her mid-twenties came over and took her daughter's hand, thanking Flynn. As the two figures trotted away, a wash of sadness flooded his consciousness. His mother used to hold his hand, no matter the occasion, even after he had turned fifteen. Sometimes, he wonder, if he were given the chance to turn back the clock, could he have convinced his father to not leave on the Zaphias business trip? Asking hypothetical questions wasn't exactly Flynn's method of handling problems but they were necessary. Every possibility seen from every angle was essential if he wanted to create a timeline leading up to his father's murder. He has been taking notes, hunting for articles and burying himself into late nights of criminal mind delving since the day. He wanted to be a homicide detective who's committed to the task. One who doesn't wrap up people's mysterious deaths with false statements. One who doesn't leave the real culprit unconvicted.

The dead _deserved_ justice.

Flynn sat down on one of the vacant benches, planning on taking in the sunshine as he let his thoughts mingle. He groaned silently when the thought of missing three whole weeks' worth of undergraduate law lessons struck him. His job had him preoccupied, preventing him from catching some proper winks. What more is there to be said of revision?

Nothing. Absolute nothing at all.

Failing the term wasn't a given choice in Flynn's book. Never has been. To spare himself from misery, the thought was revoked of its invitation. From the corner of his eye, he watched as engrossed chess players battled fiercely across the boards on the weathered wooden benches, picnic scraps lining the edges. There were several set of players; there was the old-school former chess club president, the aged uncle who wore out-of-fashion berets and barked hoarse laughs after every move, and then there was also the aggressive kind of player, better off playing wagers in texas hold 'em.

But the one man who caught Flynn's audience was the ruby-eyed sole player with hair as white as a winter wonderland.

He _definitely_ stood out in appearances.

However, given the fact that everyone else spared him queer looks, Flynn was quick to assume that he was one of the regulars. Playing two sets as one, the man's black and white checkered board was full of hardcore moves, moves that were even beyond the conventional, 'Professionals' Guidebook to Chess'. Surreptitiously, Flynn anticipated the grand finale, counting the seconds upon which the most well-loved and well-hated word would be spoken. He waited, suspenseful delay killing him, hoping to see the white queen perform a majestic final strike to swipe the entire game clean with a single 'checkmate'.

But it never came to be.

Instead, all of the remaining pieces were shuffled about in a couple of consequent moves, modifying the battlefield into a tangle of threats wherein the black king stood helplessly within the confinement of a double check as opposed to its former single check prison hold. The unexpected moves made by the man in the midst of a simple but sure-win game puzzled Flynn. The white team was already on the verge of claiming victory; what was with the sudden intervention to complicate matters?

It was quite a while before the man's stern gaze voyaged over to connect with Flynn's, surprising the latter as his deep voice resounded from metres away. "Would you propose delaying the black king's inevitable loss by moving out of check or…" The man's finger hovered over the black queen, indicating the piece, "Sacrifice an important piece for the greater good?"

Flicking sideway glances to ensure that he was indeed the one being referred to, Flynn paced over the recently mowed grass to have a closer look at the arrangement. The situation indubitably favoured the white pieces, a seemingly straightforward overthrow just another move away. If played by the international chess tournament standards, the 'Black' player would have already resigned to an honourable loss. But seeing as they weren't…

"I would rather move the black king out of its tight spot first then re-strategise tactics. If it's truly a hopeless situation, then even needless sacrifice won't help to salvage the king's already detrimental position," Flynn chewed on his lip, racking his brain to spot an opening for the black pieces, "…But if the king repositions here…" With his forefinger and thumb, the chess piece was relocated to a dark square where it was out of aim provisionally, "…and the bishops as well as the queen take on the offensive, there might just be a slight chance to turn the tables…"

It only took a matter of seconds for realisation to dawn upon Flynn as his very own words echoed within his head. They probably sounded a bit too hopeful, a bit too amateurish in the ears of a professional.

"I…Uh… I'm rambling. I'm sorry…"

Unexpectedly, the enigmatic man let out a small chuckle bouncing with the slightest hint of mirth, "An idealist, I see? Very well. Maybe there's innocence in having a tiny glimmer of hope for each one of us."

Though the quizzical look etched on his face was more of a given than anything else, a note of perplexity played on Flynn's tongue more audibly than he liked it to. His wonders were left unattended to as the hushed player maneuvered a white rook to finally trap the black king in an abrupt but definite checkmate. Even in the glory of conquest, his features wore the grim reflections of a distant past and a deep pool of experience, far off from the nuance of happiness.

Something about him made Flynn feel callow and small.

"…You're still pondering as to why I did not opt for a direct blow before the situation took a huge turn…?"

Whether it was a statement or a question, Flynn could not distinguish between the two.

"Succumbing to desperate thoughts of easy, quick triumph will only lead to one's downfall…" Tucking long silver tresses behind an ear, the man's piercing red eyes skimmed over the chess set like the remnants of a century long war, "Yet, time and time again, man never learns the value of such a lesson. It takes life-threatening circumstances for such folly to be reassessed."

"…And in the worst case scenario wherein man does not, he leads himself to his own ruin."

For a brief period of beating pulses, Flynn wondered if the man were still on the subject of chess. _Looks like he wasn't looking for a swift clean slate from the start_, noted Flynn mentally.

"Come, have a game and prove me wrong."

* * *

><p>Huffing and puffing after being squashed by a myriad of passengers in the shuttle bus for more than an hour, Flynn fell to his knees on the marble slab pavers, swearing that he would never ride express in the afternoon <em>ever again<em>. Catching his breath, Flynn tried his very best to gussy up before heading for the crowded casino entrance, the mysterious man's voice still lucid and compelling above all murmurs of trepidation.

"_Ah, it looks like an engagement has beckoned you_," he had said as soon as Flynn ended the unexpected call, "_Perhaps we can continue our little duel some other day if fate permits_." Though conflicted between prodding for a hint of identity from the mysterious individual and maintaining proper etiquette, neither option was made to surface as the frantic voice on the other end of the line suggested that Flynn arrive without a moment's delay. With hope that they would meet again, Flynn drew his focus upon the increasingly large crowd, noticing masses of evacuated casino-goers being herded by a few capable policemen.

Wading through the sea of people, Flynn ducked under the restriction tapes and lifted his badge, slightly irritated at the disoriented casino guard who eagerly shooed him away before even noticing the emblem. Past the security check and glossy revolving turnstile, a magnificently commodious gambling arena stood before him. The aggregation of the precinct's familiar faces in one corner of the room pinpointed Flynn to where he was meant to be though part of him was furtively itching to explore the vast hall of entertainment. Kaufman was, as always, busying herself with the body; this time, sprawled messily beside a roulette table. Jules, however, was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, Kaufman."

"Waittttt…. Just a moment longer…" The cherry-haired forensic pathologist sang song as she gently tweezed out the bullet embedded in the victim's stomach, dropping the blood covered projectile into a vacuum sealed bag before looking up to meet her greeter, "Flynn! Nice surprise. Didn't expect you to arrive on time."

"I was told that it was urgent… isn't it? Or-"

"There he goes again," Kaufman sighs loudly. _Purposefully_. "By the way that boy overreacts, you'd think that Tokunaga didn't belong in this field."

She groaned, rubbing her face, "…And he always has to take toilet breaks every 5 minutes. Geez, if he can't even hold down his lunch, how does he expect to deal with the body?"

"Talking behind my back again, doctor?" A tanned, lanky man dressed in slacks one would recognize from the local reject shop, scurried over to the fuming pathologist's side, taking the package handed over to him.

"I'm only stating facts," Kaufman snorted.

"Despite her harsh words, Kaufman's actually pretty fond of his capabilities in lab testing evidence," Jules chirped in, earning himself a radioactive glare to which he ignored before sporting an apologetic look in his junior's direction, "Sorry Flynn."

"Well, it's not _officially_ my day off so…" Flynn shrugged languidly, hands finding their way into his pockets as he returned his attention to their main objective, "So who's our John Doe?"

"This guy's Jack Malore, aged 51. Had a couple of credit cards with their limits exceeded," Jules' gloved hand dug into a box containing the victim's personal effects to showcase a series of gold-plated cards, "According to the casino staff, he's been a regular here since a decade ago. Even had his very own VIP membership."

"So what changed?" Flynn glanced over to the lifeless body with mixed feelings flooding his head.

"He's been declared bankrupt by law for over a year now. The authorities here never did revoke his exclusivity though. He used to work by the docks during the day until a dispute ripped that off him too."

"I don't suppose all this while he had been gambling off borrowed money?"

"If he did, then those loan sharks must be cursing over his dead body," Jules grinned, "We can never know for sure at this point in time, though. There's no next of kin whom we can get ahold of."

"I guess then it's our cue to make a trip down to the bay?" Flynn pushed himself off the pillar, ever ready to make a move.

"Not so fast, Flynn," Jules chuckled and ruffled his partner's hair, "We've already sent some of our men to take care of that."

"There are, however, some CCTV recordings we've sent back to the precinct for viewing. I'm ready with a bowl of popcorn. Are you?"

* * *

><p>Back at 11th Avenue, Flynn rapped his fingers on the chair arm in boredom as he sped up the video being played before him with a remote. He had taken over from Jules who said that he'd make it back in an hour or so and was about to resign to the comforting call of sleep when the 51 inch screen suddenly displayed the actual murder scene that took place that afternoon.<p>

Hitting the rewind and play buttons, Flynn stifled a yawn and straightened his back, eyes glued to the wide HD television. Jack Malore had won big and was screaming in pure joy when the bullet struck not a minute after. The scare drove every life in the room into a fit of panic, creating chaos. From the camera angle, the position of the shooter was fully obscured and undeterminable. It made Flynn speculate that the killer must have been well-informed of the security and camera positioning.

_Was someone from the security team responsible for this?_

Even as he replayed the scene over again, no new leads came to mind. He huffed in frustration, merely half aware of the gentle creak of the large wooden door opening. Jules appeared behind it, holding up a plastic bag with some Chinese food takeaways. As the both of them chowed down, Flynn played the scene for Jules' viewing.

"Oh, yeah. Reports have come in. None of Jack's former colleagues even knew that he was having financial difficulties," Jules spoke thoughtfully, picking at a piece of braised duck, "All they knew of were his gambling habits and temperamental nature."

"Maybe someone held a grudge against him," Flynn supplied, "…And his past came to catch up on him."

"Maybe," Jules uttered darkly before standing up from his seat to collect the empty food boxes, "Anyway, didn't you say that you had law class to attend?"

"Oh, right. I did. But…"

The door swung close and the shutters cluttered noisily against the glass pane. From the distance, Jules' voice sounded muffled, "I'll be sure to sweep the area. Don't you worry!"

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry! I'm really sorry!"<p>

Flynn bowed numerous times, trying not to think about how he was making a fool of himself in front of the other students. On top of his recent string in absence, he had arrived fifteen minutes too late. His teacher was a bespectacled redhead who often wore a sour look to complement her strict manner of tutoring. But seeing her newest student acting like _that_…

"Oh, Flynn, just get a seat," she cried in despair, features softening after getting over her initial irk of having her lesson disrupted halfway. She shooed him away to the back of the class after being thanked continuously, happy that she could resume jotting notes on the chalkboard.

Dropping his bag onto the only unoccupied desk, Flynn took a seat before realizing that the person sitting next to him was none other than Yuri, amused look stamped on his face.

"Y-Yuri…?"

"Geez, Flynn. You're so _slow_," Yuri grinned as he bit the end of his ballpoint pen, "Nice entrance there though. Way to start a boring law class, don't you think?"

A heating sensation flittered across Flynn's cheeks, "Yeah well, I'm not very good at expressing myself, that's all."

"Anyway, _you're_ one to talk despite being absent from the café and all."

He looked away and started digging through his backpack, only to be taken aback by the warmth of Yuri's breath tingling the back of his neck.

"Oh? Is that concern I hear?"

Flynn froze, completely unable to will himself to turn around and face Yuri who was probably as close to him as he _thought_ he was.

From the front of the room, their teacher's voice cut through the air, "Flynn, I hope you can review our past notes from one of your classmates here."

"A-Ah sure."

"And Lowell, quit making arriving late a habit."

"If I must…" Yuri faked an exasperated tone, "Only if Flynn's early too."

"W-What? What does that have to do with me!" Flynn gritted his teeth, piercing glare having much less effect on Yuri's nonchalance than he'd hope for.

"Well… You do have a point there, Lowell. I hope that you're not getting ahead of yourself just because your grades were good back in your old school,_ Scifo_."

"I… I understand…" Flynn answered in bewilderment. He shot Yuri a murderous look, "Thanks for being such a pal."

"Anytime! I think I deserve a pat on the back for that," Yuri chortled, "But seriously, you being here makes attending these lessons all worthwhile."

Flynn flushed bright red for a moment, "Yeah, right. As if you weren't already attending them _before_ I came to Zaphias."

"Are you telling me that I'm the reason you're here?" he snorted, finding Yuri's choice of words poor and careless linguistically.

"And what if I am?" Yuri edged forward until they were mere inches apart. Flynn chocked on his comeback, finding the intimate closeness disturbing. Those grey eyes were judging him, Flynn thought uncomfortably. Before long, Yuri drew back and resumed jotting down some notes on his full scape paper, silent and attentive.

Flynn took a heartbeat or two to fall back to reality, tugging at the sticky note stuck just behind his right shoulder pad. Written on it in a messy scribble was a mobile number - Yuri's, to be exact. He slipped the tiny memo into his clear file holder, trying his very best to maintain focus on his teacher's lecture and to not sneak a peek ever so often at the unpredictable raven-haired man sitting right beside of him.

* * *

><p>Stationed at various designated positions, policemen donning casual outfits went about their duties; some keeping watch, some eyeing possible suspects. The casino was still bustling with life and colour despite the events that occurred the day before; an irony in its own right when one thinks about the roused crowd exiting just 24 hours before. The building spanned 20 stories high, a no mere feat for the badge to guard. They were understaffed, truly. The cooperation of the casino employees were reluctantly given, though many a patron could sense the tension brewing steadily in the atmosphere.<p>

"A-Ah! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Forgive me!" Karol whimpered in fear as one of the blackjack players furiously tossed his playing chips at the inexperienced crupier.

The brute man scowled with rage, slamming his hands on the deck of cards nervously handed over to him, "I don't want the damn cards, you twerp! I demand my money back!"

"Hold it."

Though his voice sounded gruff and raspy, the billion dollar owner of the entire place, Don Whitehorse, appeared poised and confident in a striped grey suit; a sense of authority emanating from his presence alone. Although rarely seen around the area and more often heard about only in the news, Don Whitehorse was renowned for his composed demeanor and generous contributions to the city. Sparks of vitality still shone bright in his tired eyes and a handful has often commented on the amount of life still kicking hard in those old bones.

"If you're so dissatisfied with the way my people handle you, you're very welcomed to drag your ass out of my casino this instant. Doesn't sound about right? Then shut your trap and enjoy the game."

The formerly infuriated player gulped tentatively, his ego crumbling into bits and pieces. His complexion paled, clearly taken aback by the biting remarks spilling from the man of much respect. His charisma was rumored to be one of his most notable charms which earned him the veneration of those who followed him.

Indeed it was a claim proven true.

"D-Don!" Karol stammered in pleasant surprise. To what did he owe for such an honor to have the Don by his side, the young man didn't care to wonder. "What brings you here?"

The large man with greying hair barked a laugh so loud that the other blackjack players withdrew some distance, "I'm just checkin' up on how my newest recruits are doing! Everyone's making me so proud." He grinned, revealing his single gold tooth, "Call me if trouble stirs again, alright?"

At a poker table just a few footsteps away, Yuri smirked as he listened in on the commotion. He took the cards allocated to him and flashed the most charming smile he could muster to the female dealer, deciding to discard part of his hand and replace them with new ones. He flipped his cards open, unshaken by the severe looks the other players were giving him. With his newly improved hand, he called for a raise, waiting for the second betting session to end. As soon as it did, he readily revealed his overpowering hand; a royal straight flush. Feeling chipper, he snagged all the chips placed into the pot, ignoring the colourful blasphemies being vocalised by the other players.

Don Whitehorse marched over upon the signal of his victory, _laughing_. "Either you're just terribly good at poker or lady luck's shining on you today. Which one is it, eh?"

Yuri sighed in pretense, his facial features contorting with essence of melodrama, "Ah, no man can refuse the charms bestowed upon the goddess!"

"Heh! Hearing that, I guess I'll settle for neither," the Don snorted in amusement, "Rolling up your sleeves like that… I guess she doesn't like cheaters much."

The long haired man chuckled and raised his arms in defeat, silently thankful that the other players had already left the table. "Ooops, looks like I've been caught red handed."

"You've got guts cheating under my surveillance. I like that though."

"I'm just earning my living," Yuri waved a hand, "'Sides, it's great to be doing Captain Karol some justice. It's not fair that you're letting him bleed dry among those monsters."

Don Whitehorse glanced in the direction of a panicking Karol, briefly mulling over what he was just told, "Even if these old hazy eyes of mine are starting to play tricks on me... they're not lying when they spot potential a mile away."

"I'm more concerned with whether or not he'll be swallowed whole before that latent 'potential' you speak of manifests," Yuri mused aloud, "That aside, some of your dealers are in desperate need of some moral education."

Yuri snorted in disgust, jerking a thumb in the direction of a crupier handling an overcrowded roulette table. To busy onlookers, nothing seemed out of the usual. To keen eyes, the depraved crupier was inconspicuously having part of the dealer's winnings extorted out of him – for some peek and skirt grabbing, on top of that.

A breathless 'Oof' slipped from Yuri's parted lips as the Don slapped him on the back, roaring with gaiety, "You ought to watch that smart-assed mouth of yours! I'll be sure to teach that pervert a lesson though. Anyway…" The Don's features softened, affection reflecting in his greyish-blue eyes as he gave Yuri a fond shove, "Thank you."

"Aww… Going all sentimental on me _already_? You're not losing it, are you?"

"Bah! Youngsters like you will never understand the pain of having those government dogs finding every excuse to snoop around your premises." The Don scratched his head in frustration, "Of all three hundred and sixty five days, why now? Especially when I was so glad that the drug chain dealer has been put out of business, this _had_ to happen. As far as I know, there shouldn't been any reason to kill someone with a standing like Jack. Or is it _my_ business they're targeting?"

"Could be an old grudge from your early days," Yuri supplied.

"Maybe… But it's all the more reason to have you work on it for me, eh?"

"Aye aye, sir! Just so you know I don't hand out packages with discount."

"Well, well. It surprises me that you're not already living the suite life,_ Ace_."

"Hey now, I hope you're not bad mouthing me with the boss behind my back."

"Heh, that man's always so full of his own selfish ambitions. No way I would mess with his already swollen pride," the Don remarked, "Guess there's no way I can change your fate for you, huh, my boy…"

Hearing those words, Yuri's expression immediately softened into one that's genuinely sincere, "…Yeah…"

"Well, just remember that you're welcomed here at any time if you ever feel like scissoring away all those old strings binding you like Alexei's puppet," the Don grinned with hopes of brightening the lad's mood. Yuri returned the affection with a slight smile.

"Thanks," he said.

As Don Whitehorse wove through the crowd, exchanging greetings with ardent players, a trigger was pulled. An earsplitting bang rang through the bustle, creating pandemonium in an instant. The Don fell into a harsh fit of coughing, spluttering blood as his legs gave way; his breathing ragged and heavy. He collapsed to the ground gasping; his body slowly turning rigid.

Patrons scattered, witnesses screamed and Yuri seethed with melancholic rage.

**CHAPTER 5 - END -**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's Note:<em>**

_After a long hiatus, Shattered Illusion resumes! *smiles* I'm grateful to those who are still following this story. It provides me with the motivation to continue, slowly but surely. I'm busy with real life stuff but I promise to work on each chapter part by part! So, thank you for the support as always! Please review!_


	7. Story Update: 04-03-2013

- **UPDATE 4/3/2013**-

...Did I disappoint you guys in thinking that this would be the newest chapter after such a loooooooong hiatus…? I'm sorry….. *cries*

Okay, back to the main point of this update – it's basically because **I am unsure as to how many people actually refers to my profile page for my status updates** (Though, admittedly, that hasn't been updated for quite some time either… I'm sorry… Forgive me….!) therefore, I figured it'd be much more effective and efficient if I took this route instead.

I haven't touched SI's drafts for quite a while now, partly because I am busy with real life stuff, partly because I have a huge load of other things queued to be done *sobs* (forum replies, gift fan-arts that are due for certain dates, unreplied emails etc), also partly because I've been trying to avoid typing continuously for hours on end (otherwise, I'd hurt my fingers…).

**To guest account holders who have reviewed my stories**, know that I am sincerely grateful for each and every piece of feedback I receive from all of you. I apologise if I may seem to have ignored/been unresponsive towards your comments as I am unable to send private messages for it is unavailable to users utilising guest accounts. I am very grateful and cherish the time you've spent on penning down your thoughts for me. Even a simple comment makes my day as knowing even an ounce of the feelings of my readers brings great joy to me, as an author, as a fellow fan and also as a fellow reader. Your feelings become the motivating drive which helps me to bring the splash of colour and depth to weave Shattered Illusion's tale and to give life to its characters.

…..And it looks like I've written an essay-long update message *laughs*

Well, it may take quite a while - **how long exactly, I cannot say for sure **– but I hope that all of you are willing to stay (…though I understand if your patience may have begun to wear thin…) and **continue to support Shattered Illusion** as you have been all this while. **Every review/comment, favourite, follow, and last but not least, view/read, is whole-heartedly appreciated!** And as I've informed on my personal profile page, if I ever decided to end Shattered Illusion once and for all, I'll try to summarise all of the important plot points as a whole.

Thank you for your time, understanding, and most notably, support!

Grateful,  
>Amethyst  Moonlight Lily

**To Guest Account Users:**

**Yori:** Thank you so much for your lovely comment! I feel touched by the compliment! *blush*

**Nimbi Piru:** Your comment startled me at first but it was really funny *laughs* Thank you! *blush* And thank you for your great sense of humour! I'm grateful that you took the time to not only comment on my writing but to continue reading SI as well!

**Liz:** Thank you! It is support like yours that keeps my will in writing this story still alive. I appreciate that a lot! Your compliment is really touching *blush* Thank you! I'm sorry for not being able to promise anything but I don't want to give up on this story just yet – especially after being given the chance to know so many wonderful people through it. It may take a while for me to get back on track to continue it, but I hope you'll stay through the long wait.

**Thank you for appreciating my effort and authorship, everyone!**


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